Not for Sale
by nanniships
Summary: Modern Anthony and Edith A/U. Anthony and Edith struggle with demons that tore them apart and just might bring them back together. Broken pieces can become a whole. No explicit scenes, but will include themes of human trafficking, violence, non-consent, and drug use.
1. Back to the world

Back to the World

_Always on the periphery. Always looking on...weighing options, calculating who to avoid. I should have just stayed home and sent a check..._

The tall man with the greying blond hair sighed at his own thoughts as his hands idly picked up slick brochures from the table next to the column he was skulking behind. The room pulsed with the energy of the well dressed and well healed, gathered to do good work and hear about a topic they really didn't think effected them. Familiar faces passed around, as he stayed on the edge of the room, trying not to make eye contact, while conversations and laughter went on. Rather inappropriate, he thought, considering the issue of the evening.

Sir Anthony Strallen, formerly Major Strallen of Her Majesty's Army Intelligence Corps, was not often seen out and about anymore. Although he was never very involved in the charity social whirl that keeps those of his class occupied and involved, for the last three years, his absence has been absolute. After several months of declined invitations, or not even responding to them at all, his acquaintances stopped asking "Whatever happened to Strallen?" and he slipped out of the rounds without even leaving much of a ripple. Clearly, no one cared enough to continue inquiring.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was one person who didn't give up for months, but as she was the one person he was hiding from, her persistence was problematic. When the letters and calls finally stopped coming, he told himself he was relieved. It wouldn't be the first time he would lie to himself and his therapist, as he passed almost a year in a discrete facility that catered to quite a few members of the Officer's Corp.

_Make progress and move on; your thoughts aren't you, Strallen, whatever Descartes might have thought. _Dr. Foyle's advice was a mantra Anthony repeated when he was feeling overwhelmed and alone, but it was easier chanted then done. Anthony knew he couldn't stay at his country home forever, seeing no one, and watching life pass him by. When he got the routine invitation from a non profit who had clearly not updated its mailing list in three years, he decided it was time to step back into life a little.

As his eyes fixed on the brochure, he flinched and put it back down hurriedly. The picture of an Afghanistan child bride continued to stare at him with haunted eyes. As he drew a deep breath, vivid memories of very young girls, wrapped head to foot, stumbling and trying to keep up with grown men as they strode down dusty tracks came crashing into his mind. He could smell the diesel and coking oil in the air as he listened to his interpreter trying to draw information out of a taciturn, hostile man while the tiny girl stood behind him, fidgeting from time to time and refusing to look towards the soldiers.

Of all charity galas to attend, Anthony was beginning to think that this one, devoted to advocacy for Human Trafficking victims, might not have been the best choice. His mouth was dry and the bar was all the way across the ballroom. It wasn't really a drink he wanted anyway. As the sharp edges of human misery and cruelty sliced across his mind, what he really wanted was the fuzzy oblivion of Dilaudid, the disconnect with the world and the twinges of pain he still experienced from his right arm over three years later. He didn't want to see the sad and frightened faces of women, girls and boys anymore, and have to wonder if they sought his help or his death.

Anthony gave himself a good mental shaking and took a deep cleansing breath. Wherever his memories might take him, he was determined to support this cause. And slipping out the door while everyone's attention was on the dais where the speakers were beginning to gather would do nothing to achieve his goal of re-engaging with the world. First thing first, though. He needed something to drink. Sidling casually through the crowd, he nodded to familiar faces, rather enjoying the double takes, as he made his slow way to the bar.

"What can I get you, Sir" asked the young man behind the bar in a thoroughly bored tone, looking up from his phone.

"Just a bottled water," Anthony replied, ignoring the blatant eye roll in response.

The barman handed Anthony a cold bottle of water and a paper napkin with a dismissive look and promptly returned to staring at his phone. Anthony entertained a brief impulse to "accidentally" spill his water in the direction of the smartphone screen, then let it go. He opened the bottle immediately, draining half of it at once and earning a raised eyebrow from the barman, who looked as though he was about to say something cutting. Anthony abruptly strode off, so as not to have to hear what the self absorbed little asshole had to say.

_Wonderful. Running from a smart assed punk so you won't have to tell him off. Well done, Strallen. Well done. You're most certainly ready to face the world._

Wrapped up in his self castigation, Anthony paid no attention to where he was going, and found himself swimming against the stream as the microphone crackled from the podium and the crowd moved closer to the speakers. Feeling self conscious, he stopped trying to get towards the back of the room and turned politely towards the front, hearing snatches of quiet conversations around him.

"...and Edith's been a tireless advocate; we never would have received that grant without her skills." Anthony's head swiveled to look towards the speaker, but could only see the back of several heads.

_Surely, there must be more than one Edith in the world_, he chided himself. _When are you going to stop jumping at that name? _He couldn't help inching a little closer though, trying to casually eavesdrop.

"Is she going to be speaking on the fundraising aspect?" asked another voice.

"We had quite a job getting her to agree, but yes. She's third on the list of speakers. See...right after Gloria...Edith Crawley."

Anthony felt his stomach drop and a thin sheen of panic sweat appeared on his forehead. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She was here, somewhere in this room, and he had to do his level best not to run into her. He began to look around desperately for a place to disappear into, while a little voice in his head intoned that he was a coward and a fool. He chose not to argue with it.

_It WOULD be good to just see her, just hear her voice again. _In spite of his decision three years ago to break from Edith so she could find someone who wasn't so screwed up and he could concentrate on getting better, he continued to torture himself by regularly reading her columns and all the gossip out there about her and that Michael Gregson. There had been a puzzling gap about a year ago for eight months, then her byline started reappearing. Actually, most of her recent articles were about trafficking and international rights of women, come to think on it. It should really come as no surprise that he might run into her at an event like this. Anthony refused to consider whether or not his subconscious might have known that and kept it from the rest of his brain when he made the decision to make this fundraising gala his first effort to really venture back out into the world. Right now, his mission was to slip out unnoticed and make another appointment with Dr. Foyle as soon as he could.

As Anthony tried to politely make his way out of the crowd, ignoring the glares as he pushed his way through, the condensation on his water bottle made him lose his grip and it fell from his fingers, rolling across the floor. Feeling a fool, he tried to chase it down while his brain screamed at him to just LEAVE it and get out. It fetched up against a pair of black pumps, and Anthony looked up to apologize to their owner, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"This must be yours," Edith Crawley said, as she bent down to pick up the bottle that had hit her foot and stood up to hand it to him. Her hand tightened around it, crimping the plastic, as her own mouth fell open. "Oh my God! What the HELL are you doing here?"

**A/N: This is my first fanfiction, so reviews have the potential to be very helpful or crush my spirit entirely. No pressure, though.**


	2. Remember to Forget

Remember to Forget

When she and her sisters were young, before battle lines were drawn and alliances made, Edith enjoyed most when their parents left them with their old housekeeper for the evening. Mrs. Parks was easy going and let them play as late as they liked, as long as they kept quiet during her soaps. The three little girls would run shrieking through the house, pelting each other with pillows and cushions from their bedrooms and the living room settee. Fun while it lasted, for Edith it invariably ended with her crying from tripping or running into the furniture and her older sister, Mary, complaining about what a wet blanket she was while her younger sister, Sybil, tried to comfort her. Still, the joys of a good, solid wack with a pillow never left her.

As Edith stared into Anthony's shocked blue eyes, she felt suddenly as if she had been nailed by a pillow full of the family silver, delivered with all the contempt and vigor her older sister could muster, and she wobbled slightly on her feet. The plastic of the half empty water bottle crumpled in her fist as she tried to make her mouth work, her voice come out with something other than "What the HELL are you doing here?" It didn't help matters that Anthony's expression was one of a trapped animal. His eyes were apologizing before he managed to respond.

"Lady Edith...um, Edith. I'm so very sorry..." he began, reaching out to take the bottle from her hand.

"For what?" she snapped, not relinquishing it. She was, in fact, highly tempted to start beating him around the head with it. He was so red, so stammering, so...ANTHONY, that he was attracting the curious attention of those around them.

"Um...for hitting you on the foot with my water," he finished weakly. They stared at one another for a moment. Edith closed her eyes tightly.

_Tonight, of all nights, thirty minutes before you're supposed to speak in front of hundreds of people and who do you almost, LITERALLY, run into but Anthony fucking Strallen! And he's apologizing for his damned WATER! He can't be here. He CAN'T._

She opened her eyes and was alarmed to discover that he was not a stress induced hallucination, but was, indeed, standing there with a terribly awkward look on his face. They were getting quite a little audience at this point. With the unerring instinct of the bored and distracted, the surrounding attendees found this little drama much more engaging than the soundcheck. Without a second thought, she gestured with the water bottle and moved away from the crowd, expecting him to follow. Anthony stood, watching her warily, as if he expected her to put the bottle to use as a cudgel. She made an impatient motion with her hand and he slowly walked over to her. They stood in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

"I can't take this right now," Edith said suddenly, thrusting the water bottle into Anthony's hand. He promptly dropped it again, but bent down quickly to retrieve it. With his tall, thin frame, he resembled a water bird stabbing below the pond's surface to spear his dinner. The expressions of those still trying to follow along varied from amused to contemptuous. Edith rolled her eyes fiercely.

"I didn't know you would be here, Edith," he blurted out. "I'm so terribly, terribly sorry that we met like this." Her expression hardened. "I have no right to push in on you like this. Please forgive the intrusion."

"Why are you here?" she asked in a harsh whisper. The keynote speaker was being introduced at length and they were receiving some glares for their noise.

"I received an invitation," Anthony replied in a lowered voice. "Its, well...its the first invitation I've accepted in..."

"Over three years?" Edith snapped. "Good to see you're getting back into practice. You might have even sent regrets and an explanation if you hadn't been able to make it this time." Anthony looked at the floor.

_Oh God, where has he been? For over three years? Where did he go? _Edith was beginning to get outraged at Anthony staring at the pattern on the carpet as if he was trying to understand it at the subatomic level. _The LEAST he can do is look me in the eye!_ As if he'd heard her thought, Anthony looked up at her solemnly.

"I know full well there are explanations owed, Edith. I was, well, planning to get in touch with you sometime soon..."

"Oh, were you?" Edith interrupted, and was appalled to feel tears spring to her eyes. She looked away, towards the speakers, and took a deep breath. "Well, regardless, THIS clearly isn't the time for a nice catch-up." Anthony winced at her brittle tone. "Enjoy your water," she finished, not looking at him again.

But as he moved away, a dejected stoop in his shoulders making him look like a Philodendron in need of sunlight, she couldn't help but look at him through the tears that hadn't fallen yet. _My God! Anthony Strallen..._

_ She had seen that stoop before. In fact, it was the last thing she had seen as he kissed her goodbye after that horrific picnic her family made them attend. Her father had brought champagne, CHAMPAGNE of all things, to toast their engagement. Anyone else would have seen it as a friendly, hospitable gesture, but Edith saw it as a way to make Anthony, who much preferred a casual atmosphere, uncomfortable. And it went terribly with the sausages and burgers they were grilling, a point Mary made certain to make, glancing at Edith as if the menu dissonance was HER doing. Being surrounded by Crawleys was difficult at the best of times, but when Edith simply wanted to spend the afternoon with Anthony, ask him about his meeting with the Colonel, and maybe smooth some of those worry wrinkles out of his forehead with her lips, it was torturous. The only chance they had to be alone at all was when her father and brothers in law talked Mary and Sybil into playing a little two a side Cricket. Anthony begged off because of his arm injury, which really seemed to be bothering him that day. As Edith and Anthony watched from the sidelines, his head resting in her lap, she felt reluctant to broach any unpleasant subjects. Anthony seemed content to simply look at her with a little smile on his face. He had been nervous and restless earlier, but seemed to calm down after taking his pain meds with lunch. She stroked his hair and told him how happy he made her. His smile seemed to falter. "Do I? Do I really make you happy, Edith?" he had asked. "I've resigned my commission, you know. I had no choice. And this arm doesn't appear to be healing right. And I...I...I need...well, never mind," he cut himself off, as if he wanted to say more, but didn't know how. "What? What is it?" she had asked. "Its nothing. I do want to make you happy. Its all I want." She had reassured him, of course, and he must have pretended to believe her, because Edith had no memory of suspecting anything. They had planned to have dinner at Locksley, Anthony's country home, and she knows she would have gotten to the bottom of his outburst, but that blasted picnic went on forever, and it was really too late by the time her mother talked her father into packing it in. Anthony kissed her goodbye, as he usually did, whispering things in her ear that made her color up and giggle. But as he left to go to his car, his shoulders stooped like he was carrying the weight of the world on them. _

Edith reeled under the powerful deja vu as Anthony walked away from her, just like he had the last time she had seen or heard from him. She found herself unable to remember to forget. And the tears which had only been threatening to fall began to drip down her cheeks as she half ran to the nearest Ladies and her body began to tremble and shake.

**A/N-Try not to get used to this frequency of updates; my vacation won't last forever. It'll probably slow down to once a week when I get back to work. Pity no one gets paid to write fan fiction... No one gets paid, right?**


	3. That didn't go at all well

That didn't go at all well

Anthony stumbled away from Edith, clutching his water bottle like a talisman against evil forces. If he wasn't in a very public place, he would have been beating his forehead repeatedly with his fist. _Water? You haven't seen her in over three years and you apologize for your WATER?! Dear GOD. Don't you DARE look at back at her. Don't you dare._

Futile, really. There was no force on earth that could prevent Anthony from turning his head, to follow Edith's very hasty departure. His retreat came to an abrupt halt as he watched the hem of her flowing skirt drift behind her like he was hypnotized. Even from behind and from a distance, he could see that she was shaking-her hands trembling as they wiped across her face. So absorbed was he in her flight that he startled and very nearly dropped his water bottle again when a hand touched his elbow. An older gentleman, unknown to Anthony, stood at his side, looking annoyed.

"Look here," he hissed, "its clear that didn't go well at all, old chap. But you've got to get out of the way. You're blocking the view of the speaker and my wife isn't very happy about that."

Anthony choked off a laugh. "Oh, you're quite right. That didn't go at all well."

"So, will you move then? I'm too old and you're too tall for me to drag you out of the way."

"I'm sorry," Anthony answered, beginning to move towards the periphery of the crowd. "Please convey my apologies to your wife. I...I seem to be apologizing to everyone I meet tonight." The older gentleman just gave him an exasperated look and shook his head.

"I would give her some space, if I were you," he said as he returned to his wife's side and took her arm. Anthony was startled, but not too surprised, to realize he was drifting around the edge of the room in the same direction Edith had gone. He also was still clutching the water bottle, something he rectified at the first waste bin.

_Three years of space caused all this. Maybe...maybe its right that she did the walking away this time._

Anthony found a bench outside of the bathrooms and sat heavily, letting his head fall into his hands. All this could disappear, with just one pill. It wouldn't go away, but he could, perhaps, not care so damn much for a while. Absently, he patted the pockets of his tux, although he knew full well he didn't have anything on him. But maybe, in his flat...he had spent so little time there the last three years-maybe there was something left in the medicine cabinet. It would be terribly out of date, but maybe...

He could almost feel the fuzziness settle behind his eyes. Everything that ached-arm, head, heart-everything would fade to a minor buzzing. He would be able to sleep, sadly not always a dreamless sleep, which would be so much better than the insomnia he battled nearly every night.

_It hasn't helped me forget her before, so I wonder what makes me think it would help now that I've seen her again, hurt her again. God help me, I don't MEAN to screw things up so badly. I wonder if I shouldn't just make that into the Strallen family motto and have it carved into the family mausoleum. _

Anthony took a deep breath and took out his phone, scrolling through the directory until "Dr. Foyle" flashed onto the screen. Anytime, day or night, he had said. But Anthony couldn't bring himself to push the call button, to interrupt a man's hard earned weekend. He would just make an appointment on Monday and tough it out until then.

With his resolution firmly in place, he stood up from the bench and began orienting himself, trying to find the exit. The wooshing of the door to the Ladies didn't catch his attention, but a too familiar gasp did.

_Oh my God. She'll think I followed her._

Edith's face showed streaks where attempts had been made to remove her make-up. While in the loo, she had come to the conclusion that there was no way she was going to be able to speak. Hopefully, she could avoid Anthony, if he was still there, and let the organizers know she had fallen ill, or something. She opened the door, trying to get her handkerchief back into her purse, and very nearly ran right into Anthony's back.

"You're following me!" she gasped. "Haven't you done enough tonight? Thought maybe you'd ambush me outside the loo and apologize some more?"

"I'm sorr..." Anthony began, trying to stem off what was building into a fine tirade. Although he admitted he deserved it, he had the presence of mind to realize Edith would regret causing any type of scene. At Edith's outraged look, he cut off his instinctive apology. "This was a complete accident, Edith. I never intended to run into you again tonight. In fact, I was trying to find the exit."

"A complete accident! 50,000 square feet of ballroom and, of course, you wind up right outside the ladies room. WHAT a coincidence." As she became angrier, Edith began to shake again and fumbled in her purse.

"Edith..."

"GO AWAY! You already know how to do that. Just go away, Anthony!" Edith's voice was raised far beyond what would be considered polite conversation and Anthony nervously noted the glares being thrown their direction. "Everything's an accident with you, meeting tonight...even when we first met. But you're very damned deliberate about going away. Play to your strengths."

_A happy accident, at the time. But still an accident. It was kind of ironic, really, that it took a war protest for Edith and Anthony to meet, considering they lived about twenty miles from each other in Yorkshire. But there it was. Edith had accompanied her sister, Sybil and Sybil's radical, Irish boyfriend to protest the Afghanistan campaign outside of Whitehall. Perhaps because the weather was so lovely, the sidewalks were full of cheerful young people, holding signs, and chanting. Sybil had just handed Edith her sign to hold while she adjusted her sandal strap, and Tom had made a comment about the crowds and how wonderful it was to see the activism. "Rather ironic, isn't it," Edith responded, "that half of these signs say "No Blood for Oil!" and most of the people holding them drove in for the protest." Sybil rolled her eyes and took her sign back, saying, "You said you thought the war was rubbish. Have you changed your mind?" "Maybe Edie is realizing how much her world is going to have to change, if the rest of the world is to follow," Tom interjected. Edith sighed. "How long are you going to be a Socialist, Tom?" she asked. "How long are you going to be an aristocrat?" he shot back. Edith huffed out a breath. "This protest isn't going to accomplish anything you know..." she began, but a cry went up from some of the other protestors: "They're coming!" Everyone looked over to the entryway, which was kept clear by uniformed police, to see a large contingent of soldiers emerge. Immediately, the crowd surged forward and increased the volume of the chanting. "C'mon Edie," Tom challenged, "we can make sure we're heard. that ought to accomplish something." Edith shook her head and began to move off to the side. "You go ahead. I'll make sure we've got bail money." She watched a little anxiously as her baby sister plunged right into a shouting, gesturing crowd, and continued to shift aside to make room for the protestors. The group of officers made their way through the crowd, ignoring the protestors for the most part. As Edith retreated from the scrum, she walked backwards into a tall officer who gave a cry of pain. Edith spun around to apologize and saw first the sling on the man's right arm, before she craned her neck up to see a pair of brilliant, pain filled blue eyes. Anxious to make amends, she hustled him further away from the crowd, much to his surprise, until they reached a clearer part of the sidewalk, further down the block. "Oh my God! " Edith sputtered, "I didn't mean to run into you like that. Is there anything I can do? For your arm, I mean." "Not much to be done with it," he responded with a crooked little smile, "but thank you for rescuing me." "I wouldn't have had to, if I hadn't almost knocked you down. I suppose I ought to introduce myself and reassure you that I don't make a habit of abducting officers from Her Majesties forces while they are about the commission of their duties. I'm Edith Crawley." "Are you? Well, you can make a habit of abducting me if you like. I'm Major Anthony Strallen, and I think we might be neighbors."_

As the memories flew through her brain, Edith's shaking made it impossible for her to hold on to her purse. Anthony made an attempt to catch it, but it hit the floor, scattering make-up, a small clasp wallet, a smartphone, and a bottle of pills across the floor. Anthony picked up the bottle of pills, but Edith snatched it out of his hand as she scrabbled about on the floor on her knees, trying to jam everything back into her bag with fingers that simply wouldn't cooperate. Leaving most of the cosmetics scattered on the floor, Edith finally managed to secure her phone, wallet and prescription and fled, sobbing, towards the doors.

Anthony stood stock still for a moment, watching Edith come apart and helpless to offer any assistance. He hadn't had the bottle in his hands for very long, but it had been long enough to see that it was a prescription for Xanax.

"Wait..." he called weakly after her. "Edith, please wait." Ignoring the shocked and angry looks of the people he shoved to one side, Anthony tried to run after her. "Oh God...anything could happen to her when she's in this state."

If there was anything Anthony knew well, it was panic attacks.

**A/N-I hope the memory sequence isn't too difficult to read. Let me know if so, and I'll make sure I break those into smaller blocks.**


	4. This ain't the movies, Mate

**A/N-I've been a bit remiss at mentioning that I do not own these characters, yada, yada, yada. They belong to Uncle Julian and his production minions, even if he's not using them to their full potential. Don't get me started...  
**

This ain't the movies, Mate

_Nononononono. Not now. Please, not now._

Edith couldn't think, couldn't plan what to do or where to go. Her carefully styled bob was sticking out in all directions as she plunged her hands into it and yanked. Her eyes fixed on the double doors that led to the atrium, she moved as quickly as she could through the crowd, clutching her purse in front of her like a battering ram. If she had only had more time, the medication would have begun taking effect and she could have just managed running into Anthony Strallen twice in one night. She might have even been able to stay through the speeches, although she didn't think there was any way she could have delivered her own.

_Damn him. Damn him. DAMN HIM! _

She hit the doors with both hands and lurched into the atrium. Through the glass doors that led to the street, she could see ranks of taxis, waiting patiently for the intoxicated and those who had sense enough not to drive their own cars into City Centre on the weekend. The sidewalk was damp from an earlier rain and her pumps slipped as she hurried to the first cab in the ranks. The driver opened his door to get out to help her, but she managed to grab the side of the cab and keep from falling.

"Alright there, Miss?" he asked. "Need a hand?" He looked at her appraisingly. She was shaking terribly and he wondered how much she had had to drink, and if it would stay inside her until he dropped her at her destination.

"No, I'm fine," she managed to gasp. "Please...I'm fine." He clearly didn't believe her, and continued to watch her struggle to open the door. Edith tried desperately to control her breathing and force her hands to cooperate. Letting out a gasping sob, she managed to lever the door handle and threw herself into the back seat.

"Edith! Wait, Edith! Please!" Anthony burst through the doors on to the sidewalk. "Please!" Without hesitation, he ran towards Edith's cab and reached out for her door. As his hand touched the top, Edith wrenched it shut, narrowly missing slamming his fingers, and pounded her hand on the lock.

"Oi! Get off, mate. Or I'll call cops on ya!" Anthony ignored the warning from the driver, gripping the roof of the cab, bending down to thrust his face at Edith's window. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was behaving like a lunatic. She stared straight ahead, trembling, refusing to look at him.

"I gave you fair warning!" the driver yelled. "Bloody, drunken tosser," he muttered as he picked up his radio hand piece.

"Edith, please," Anthony begged. "Let me help."

"Just go, please," Edith ordered the driver in a small voice. "Please." He glanced at her in his rear view, noticing how disheveled and upset she was. He took her in, from her auburn curls that looked as they'd worked over with a garden fork, to the high color in her cheeks and her rumpled gown. The tears streaming down her face and her rasping breaths sealed it for him.

"You're sure you don't want to talk to the police, love? Or I can take you to hospital?" He cast a glare at Anthony, who was still clinging to the roof of the cab, trying to get Edith's attention. Edith stared at the floor of the cab and shook her head in the negative. "D'ya need to call anyone? I don't usually offer...but you can use m'phone, if you need."

"No thank you. I have a phone. But I do appreciate it." Edith drew in a trembling breath and tried a smile at the concerned eyes in the rear view. It must not have been a very convincing effort, as his expression only changed to the extent of cocking a skeptical eyebrow. "Please, let's just go." With a shake of his head, the driver turned his attention to the wheel and began to ease into the road.

"If you say so," he replied. "Where to then?" He cast another glare towards Anthony, who was keeping stride next to the cab and muttered, "If that wanker starts pounding on the roof, I'm calling in."

Anthony tried one final time to get Edith's attention before stopping and running a frustrated hand through his hair. He immediately turned back to the ranks of cabs and jumped into the one next in the queue.

"Um..." Edith hesitated. She drew in her breath to give her Aunt Rosamund's address, but stopped and looked back to see Anthony ducking into a cab.

"Yeah? I need an address or something, love. I'm not a mind reader." Edith closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

_Oh God...why won't the pills work? Why can't I THINK? I just want to forget this night ever happened. I just want to forget EVERYTHING, just for a while. I just want to stop crying. And he's still waiting for an address... _

Edith opened her eyes and opened her mouth. Thomas' address in Shepherd's Bush come out. A bolt of heat shot through her stomach, and she almost corrected herself. Almost. She knew Thomas could help, at least with the forgetting part.

Anthony plunged into the back seat of his cab. The cab driver turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. He had been watching the little drama play out next to his colleague's cab with some interest. Anything to break the monotony of waiting to drive a bunch of drunken, charitable toffs back to their hotels or town homes.

"Having a rough night, are you Sir?"

"Quickly as you can, please," Anthony rapped out in a voice held over from his days of command. "Follow that cab." The driver looked at him in amazement.

"Wot?"

"Please, I need to catch up to wherever that cab is headed."

"Did you actually say, 'Follow that cab'?" the driver said with an unpleasant smirk. "Seriously, Mate?"

"Sir..." Anthony began, beginning to feel a panic rising as the tail lights of Edith's cab went through an intersection and got farther away.

"Wot's up then?" the driver interrupted. "Is the game afoot, or something?"

"I need you to follow that cab, right now," Anthony ordered in a steely voice that surprised him. He wasn't sure where it had come from. The driver was not impressed.

"I'll just bet you do," he responded in a bored tone. "That was some brush off she gave you."

"Look here..." Anthony began with a rising fury.

"No, YOU look 'ere, Mate! This ain't a hackney coach, you ain't Sherlock Holmes, and I ain't heading out without a destination. I need an address from you and no more bloody rubbish about following cabs. This ain't the movies, Mate. Get on with it or get out and find another bloody cab!" Anthony turned red from anger and embarrassment.

_God, what was I thinking? "Follow that cab?!" Bloody hell! I should consider myself lucky he hasn't called the authorities yet. I must be losing my mind. and I have no idea where to tell him to go. How am I going to find her?_

"Well?" snapped the driver impatiently. "Meter's running." Anthony rubbed between his eyes, trying to think through his rising headache and anxiety. Common sense dictated that he go back to his London flat, maybe try to call some of their past mutual friends, none of whom would want to talk to him. Of course, he had abandoned common sense a long time ago where Edith was concerned.

"Just a moment, please." Anthony brought out his phone and began typing, mentally blessing search engines. He had no success at first, then realized he had misspelled Painswick and corrected it, swearing under his breath and taping the screen with uncharacteristic vehemence. The driver rolled his eyes dramatically and settled into his seat, taping his fingers on the wheel. When the address came up on his screen, he fought down that nagging little voice in the back of his head reminding him how much Rosamund had always disliked him and gave the driver her Belgravia address. With much muttering, the driver directed the cab into traffic and turned on the wipers as a light rain began falling again.

Anthony sat back and began mentally preparing himself to drop in on Rosamund-unannounced, uninvited, and most certainly, unwanted.

_If I can possibly help her, I must. And if that means going through Rosamund...then so be it._

If only he was as confident as his thoughts pretended to be.


	5. Long time, no see

**A/N: Taking a definite turn into the dark in this chapter. Be advised: trigger warning for illegal drug use. Don't own them and I hope they don't hate me before I'm done with them.**

Long time, no see

"That'll be 20 pound 75, love." Edith dug through her wallet for a twenty and a ten, shoving both into the drivers hand, and got out of the cab with haste. Even twenty feet away from the door to Thomas' flat, she could hear the steady thump of bass and the murmur of loud and boisterous voices. She stood for a moment in the misting rain and let it wash over her with a shudder.

"Miss? Miss!" Edith startled at the sound of the driver's voice. He looked at her doubtfully for a moment. "Are you sure this is where you want off?"

"Yes. Quite sure," replied in clipped tones. The driver shrugged and gave her one last concerned look before lighting up his "for hire" sign and engaging the drive. For a moment, Edith wanted nothing more than to chase him down and scream at him to come back, not to leave her here. She could almost feel the way her chest would tighten and her calves scream from trying to run in her pumps. The feeling was so strong, when she saw the brakes light up, she threw her hand over her mouth and gasped as if she had run a mile. But the driver was only stopping at an intersection. then he turned left and was gone.

The inadequate street lamps shone fitfully through the drizzle, illuminating a shabby block of row houses, most cut into smaller flats. Although the area was becoming very popular with the young professionals, gentrification hadn't put its cosmetic face on Thomas' block just yet. A rusty iron railing hung crookedly on the stairs to his door and stained her hand a muddy brown as she clutched it. Putting one foot in front of the other, she advanced slowly up to the door, which, she noticed, had recently been repainted a gaudy peacock blue. She lifted her hand in preparation to knock, then dropped it back by her side again.

Swallowing hard, Edith turned from the door and began to descend while trying to fish out her phone with hands that were beginning to tremble again. She walked several steps away from the flat, straining to read the numbers scrolling by, passing by the one she wanted twice before she was able to stop on it. She held a shaking finger over Elsie's name, hesitating, then suddenly stabbed it. The number dialed and Edith held the phone up to her ear as it burred. On the fourth ring, Elsie's clear brogue lilted forth.

"Edith? Edith, is that you?" Edith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. "Edith? Answer me, girl. Whatever's going on?" Elsie's voice began to rise with concern. Music and light suddenly spilled out into the street as the door to Thomas's flat opened and a tall, thin man was silhouetted against it. Looking back at Thomas' door, Edith abandoned her attempt to frame a word, any word, and hit the disconnect.

Squinting against the sudden brightness, Edith moved towards Thomas' stairs, shoving her phone back into her purse. It began to ring immediately, but ignored it. Thomas' dark eyes flew up and down her, taking in her formal wear and her trembling, and his mouth twisted into an unpleasant smirk. He leaned against the door frame and his long fingers lifted a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. As he tapped one out, his eyebrow quirked questioningly at her.

_He hasn't changed a bit-still as slick and smarmy as ever. Oh God. Why am I here? I can't be here._

"When Jimmy said he thought he saw you standing out here in the rain, I thought he was taking the mickey," he drawled, breaking the silence. Lighting his cigarette, he blew smoke into the humid night air. "Long time, no see, Edie."

"Hello, Thomas," she replied, hating the shakiness in her voice. "It has been a while."

"Michael parking the car," he asked with narrowed eyes, "or are you here all by your lonesome?" Edith blanched and swallowed.

"I'm...I'm not here with...we're not...I..." Edith took a deep breath. "I'm alone."

"Are you now?" Thomas' shrewd tone held a nasty note, and Edith could feel a shiver of fear in her stomach. "Pity. I'd like a few words with Michael. Any idea how I could reach him, Darling?"

"I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him in...a very long time."

"Well, at least you're back to visit old friends," Thomas replied in a tone that could almost be called friendly. "Would you like to join the party?"

Edith looked through the door at the shadows of many bodies moving kinetically through the front room of the flat. Smoke from cigarettes mixed with the sweeter smell of pot, and under it all was the pervasive, acrid smell of pine cleaner vying with years of vomit and despair. Edith knew that, further into the flat, the smells became heavier with the sharp odor of freebasing and ammonia. The atmosphere was oppressive, yet so very familiar it was almost welcoming. A young, blond man with a beautiful face appeared behind Thomas and spoke low into his ear. Thomas nodded and the young man leered at Edith before popping back inside.

"Come on in, or fuck right off," Thomas invited. Edith felt a flair of anger and glared as she mounted the steps, looking Thomas in the eye and brushing past him, into the scream of the music and the voices of twenty people all trying to have a conversation at once.

"That's my girl," Thomas said as he followed her in and shut the door firmly. "Jimmy, get Edie a drink!" Before Edith had walked more than five feet into the front room, Jimmy was at her elbow with a tumbler full of whiskey.

"That's what you take, innit?" he inquired. Edith nodded and took the glass, holding it tightly. She stood, transfixed, watching the crowd of people in various stages of intoxication and recreational drug use stagger around and try to dance or talk. When Thomas stepped up behind her, pushing his mouth right next to her ear, she jerked away and gasped, spilling her drink on her gown. Undeterred, Thomas approached her again and hissed into her ear.

"I don't have any junk tonight, Edie. Ya know what they say, if I knew you were comin', I'd a baked a cake and had some smack, fer goodness sake. But I can make a few calls, if you want..." he trailed off watching the emotions play out on her face. Relief battled with disappointment. When she turned to face him, he could see that relief had won. "Don't you worry though. I'm sure we've got something in our nibbles bowls that will fix you up right." Edith threw back her drink.

"I'm sure you do," she replied, surprising herself with the strength in her voice.

_For the first time tonight, since I picked up Anthony Strallen's water bottle, I feel like I might stop shaking. Damn him, and damn the memories. I don't want this. Oh God, I don't want this. Thomas is grinning. He looks like Mephistopheles, here to take delivery of my soul-the one I sold ages ago. But I'm not shaking anymore. At least...I'm not shaking._

Edith could almost hear the ringing of her phone underneath the all pervasive noise. A fight was starting to break out near the stereo as a clearly tweaking couple began screaming their mutual displeasure with each other. The buzz and vibration in her purse simply added to the sensory overload that was surrounding her, drawing her in, making her at home. As the alcohol began to spread its tendrils through her body, she determined to forget that she had ever called Elsie.

By the time she had sampled from the tray a painfully thin young woman with a dazed look and multiple facial piercings was carrying, she was successful in this endeavor. The phone continued to ring frantically in her purse, flashing Elsie's and Rosamund's numbers in quick succession.


	6. You don't look good on wood

**A/N-Insert standard disclaimer here. Trigger warning for prescription and street drug abuse. Enjoy the cage match!**

You don't look good on wood

When the cab pulled up outside of Rosamund Painswick's town house, Anthony found it difficult to get out. The corner of his mouth twitched, as he began to run through potential strategies in his head that might convince Ros to help him find Edith, rather than throw him out on his ear. As he sat, brow wrinkled and palms sweating, he heard an exasperated sigh from the front seat.

"This is the right place, ain't it? Please tell me its the right place and you don't want to go to 221B Baker St." The driver was clearly anxious to get shot of his passenger.

"Yes...yes, this is the right place," Anthony replied with an audible swallow. He dug his wallet out and threw two 20 pound notes at the driver, hoping the generous tip would make up for his attitude earlier. The driver muttered an ungracious thanks and touched his forehead in a mock salute.

"Ta, Mate. Hope your night improves." Casting him a wary sidelong glance, he added: "Do me a favor though...if it don't, don't call me back to pick you up." Anthony shot the driver a glare, beginning to regret his generosity, and abruptly exited the vehicle. No sooner had his door shut behind him than the "for hire" sign lit up and the cab pulled off quickly.

Anthony ran his hand through his hair and tried not to think about the last time he'd had the _pleasure_ of Ros' company.

_His trips to London were infrequent and almost always at his lawyer's behest. Straight there and straight back kept him from running into too many old friends. But about five months ago, he had to make a duty visit to his sister, only to find that she was taking it into her own hands to draw him out of his safe nest at Locksley and back into the public by having a small luncheon. It might have meant no more than a few hours of boring small talk with people he barely knew, which would have been the best possible scenario in Anthony's view. Unfortunately, his sister was on some sort of committee with Ros Painswick, and even thought they couldn't stand each other, she felt obligated to invite her, hoping she would decline. Sadly, she didn't._

_ To this day, Anthony doesn't know if his sister was aware of Ros' connection to Edith, although he finds it hard to believe she wouldn't have some inkling. He doesn't know, because from that day to this, he's hasn't passed a civil word with her. It was the most uncomfortable "casual" affair he could ever remember being at in his life. As soon as Ros walked through the door and saw him sitting at the table, her eyes locked on him like lasers. Furious, appalled, affronted lasers. Homicidal lasers. Edith had told him many times that her Aunt Ros was the only member of the family she really felt close to, and Anthony had no doubt that Ros would have been the one she turned to for support and comfort when he left like he did. Clearly...she had._

_ His hopes that Ros would simply snarl and leave were dashed as she maneuvered next to him with all the skill of an elite combat scout. He felt frozen to his chair, unable to even acknowledge the confused and annoyed woman he had been chatting aimlessly with just moments before. His paralysis was broken enough to stand , instinctively polite, as she arrived at the side of his chair and acknowledge her presence with a stiff nod. "So...you're not dead after all," she spat. "Afraid not. Sorry," he replied with a weak smile. "Pity. That might have been a valid excuse." Her eyes snapped with anger. "I can arrange to rectify that situation." "I'm not trying to excuse anything, Ros..." he began. "Save it, Sir Anthony. I'm not the least bit interested." They had the attention of everyone in the room by that time. She continued to glare, making no move to flounce off in disgust, as he expected. She just sipped her drink and never took her narrowed eyes off of his face. The weight of the silence and the rustle of whispered comments felt like a physical burden on his shoulders; all he wanted was to fade into the wallpaper, as he had been able to so many times before in his life. He opened his mouth to say something-anything-innocuous, but what came out was the worst thing he could have said, even if it was the only thing on his mind._

_ "How...how is Edith these days?" he blurted. He watched Ros' eyes widen for a moment in disbelief, then tried helplessly to duck the drenching cocktail that she flung out of her glass and into his face. His eyes stung, and he staggered backwards catching the back of his legs on his chair. While everyone stared in various poses of shock, amusement, or avid interest, Anthony walked out of his sister's drawing room, hoping no one noticed the tears that were mixing with Ros' drink on his cheeks._

Standing on the sidewalk in front of Ros Painswick's door, he could still feel the deep humiliation and self loathing that drove him, dripping and depressed, out of his sister's home, never to return. Ros knew how to nurse a grievance and hold a grudge better than any Afghani tribesman Anthony had ever met. She was absolutely the last person he wanted to talk to, and likely the last person to ever offer him help. But Edith was their mutual concern, whether Ros would see it so or not.

Hoping that Ros was not indulging in a nightcap, Anthony stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He could hear its deep, rich tones echo through the entryway as he fidgeted. The door was opened by a short, husky man with white hair and an impressive handlebar mustache. He gave Anthony the once over.

"Yes?" he asked in a deep voice, "Can I help you?" He pointedly looked at his watch, and then back at Anthony, a clear indication that it was too late for casual callers.

"Oh for God's sake, Marmaduke? Who is it at this time of night?" Anthony cringed slightly at Ros' irritated voice.

"Haven't a monkey's," Ros' husband said with a shrug.

"Well, ask him in or send him on his way," she replied. Marmaduke gave Anthony another thorough glance and must have determined he wasn't serial killer material. Anthony went through and stood just inside the door, waiting for Ros' shriek of recognition.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"You know this chap, then?" Marmaduke asked.

"Of course I do. THIS is Sir Anthony bloody Strallen, late Major of her Majesty's forces, whose proposal of marriage and subsequent disappearance over three years ago cocked up dear Edith's life for brief, but painful, time. He is, apparently, a slow learner."

"Ah. That one," Marmaduke murmured. "I'll leave you to it then, dear." And with that, he strolled away towards the staircase. Anthony watched him go with a feeling of dread, then turned his attention to Ros.

"Ros, I'm very much afraid I need your help."

"Oh THIS I must hear."

"Please, Ros. Its about Edith...she's not here by any chance, is she?" Ros' snorted in derision. "I...I...I was at the fund raising gala for "Not for Sale" tonight and, well, I ran into Edith."

"You did what?!"

"It wasn't intentional, Ros. I had no idea she'd be there but she was. And we had a very awkward moment..."

"Well now, THERE'S a surprise. You're one giant, walking, awkward moment at the best of times, Sir Anthony," Ros interrupted. Anthony's concern and frustration boiled over.

"Will you just SHUT UP for once and listen!" Ros' eyes went wide in shock and her lips pressed together in preparation for a blistering response. "Yell at me later, if you must, but Edith is in a very bad way. She needs help, and I don't know where to find her."

"What do you mean, 'a bad way'? What did you do?"

"I don't know," Anthony replied desperately. "She wouldn't talk to me, of course-not that I blame her. Then she had some sort of, well, panic attack. I saw that she is taking Xanex..."

"Did you rifle through her handbag, or something?" Ros snapped. "How the hell do you know?"

"She dropped everything, she was shaking so hard. I tried to help her pick it up. Then she ran from me and got into a cab-wouldn't talk to me or stop for anything." Ros said nothing. Anthony watched her expression go from angry to concerned. "Ros, is Edith alright? She seemed very...off. Where would she go if she didn't come here?" Ros remained silent and began to pace the floor of the entryway like she was making a decision. "Please, Ros. I think...I think she may have a problem, a bigger problem than a panic attack."

"Oh she's got bigger problems. Bigger even than YOU showing up out of the blue. What makes you think she's got a...problem?"

"She reminds me of myself, Ros." Ros stared into Anthony's eyes for a moment, then waved at him to follow her.

"You might as well come in." Anthony gratefully followed her into the living room. Ros picked up her cell phone and began dialing. When she received no answer, she tossed it angrily onto the couch.

"Exactly HOW does Edith remind you of yourself, Anthony? There were a lot of rumors and speculation about why you disappeared and then secluded yourself out in Yorkshire for years. What were you about?" Anthony stared at the carpet pattern for a moment, then looked up and past Ros, then spoke in a flat, soft voice:

"I spent most of year in a facility trying to shake an addiction to prescription opiates. From my wounded arm and PTSD. And I spent the rest of the time away from everything that might make me fall out of recovery. It takes a very long time to lose the shakes and the tendency to panic." Anthony risked a look at Ros, who was chewing her lip as she listened. "Please, if Edith is in trouble and I can help in anyway..." Ros turned away from him and picked up her cell phone, trying to dial a number again. Her expression when it went to voice mail was one of growing fear. Anthony felt his stomach clench up.

"Edith has been struggling with substance abuse for the past two years." Ros spoke hesitantly, as if she was breaking a confidence and wasn't convinced yet that it was for the best. "She's been falling out of recovery the last few weeks, preparing for some speech at the fundraiser. Its been eating her up inside, but she refused to back out." Ros began to pace again and wring her hands. "She's managed to avoid going back to the heroin..." Anthony's mouth fell open in shock "...but she's been really struggling with other drugs-pills mostly, trying to stay calm. It sounds to me like she's looking for something to counteract the stress and shock."

"Two years," whispered Anthony. "Dear God. How did she manage to hide it?" Ros laughed bitterly.

"She didn't, Anthony. Surely you read all the gossip sheets and scandal mags. Once she began a relationship with Michael Gregson, she fell right into the club scene. Most certainly her parents knew-why else do you think she lived in London? She wasn't welcome there anymore." Anthony sat down heavily on an overstuffed chair. "Edith's life was an open secret. Of course, we all blamed..."

"Me," Anthony interrupted. "This is all my fault."

"What?" Ros asked in genuine puzzlement. "What are you going on about?"

"When I left...how I left...who I was...I did this. I caused this. Oh my God." Anthony buried his face in his hands until he felt a stinging slap to the back of his head and jerked up to see Ros prepared to smack him again.

"Sweet Bleeding Christ! You think this is all about YOU? Bloody Hell, Strallen. Not everything is about you. Edith moved on from you; she buried everything down deep in her heart and just moved on-moved on to writing and journalism, moved on to Michael Gregson. HE got her into the club and drug scene. I didn't see ANY evidence of you involved at all!" Anthony tried to interrupt, but Ros would not be stopped. "You want to be a martyr so bad because you think you did the wrong thing for the right reason. Well, you'll get no help from me or from Edith. Climb down off your cross, Anthony. you don't look good on wood."

Anthony sat, stunned. The verbal punch he had just received was harder and more effective at knocking the stuffing out of him than any smack Ros could administer. Ros ignored him completely and began dialing her cell phone frantically. After a few more failed attempts, she stormed out of the living room and began calling up the stairs for Marmaduke.

"What? What now?" he called back.

"We've got to find Edith, Duke. Be a dear and get the car out." There was a mutter and grumble from Marmaduke, but he obligingly came back down, carrying his shoes. The two of them whispered to each other in the entry way while Anthony clutched his head and struggled to make sense of all his emotions. The only thing he could think about was Edith, her beautiful, pain filled eyes as she clutched his water bottle, the gasping breaths as she fled from the venue, and the haunted, empty look in her eyes as her cab drove away.

He had to help her. He had to find her. As Marmaduke and Ros headed towards the garage entrance, he fell into step behind them. Ros glanced back at him and rolled her eyes.

"Go home, Anthony. You're not invited on this mission." But the look on his face most certainly said otherwise.

"Why else did you tell me everything," Anthony asked challenged. Marmaduke looked at them both and sighed.

"So...which one of you is riding shotgun, then?"

**A/N the second-Duke lives because Ros needs a softening influence in her life ;) Reviews are a good thing.**


	7. In quite nice neighborhoods

**A/N- They're not mine. But I'm going to keep them real. Angsty as all get out. Trigger warning for drug use.**

A great many places in quite nice neighborhoods

"Wassa matter? Ain't yer gonna MINGLE!"

Jimmy's voice was like a brisk snap next to her ear. She lurched away from him and fell heavily onto a tired, ratty sofa. Squinting, she tried to get her eyes to focus on his pretty, smirking face. He sat down on the arm of the sofa and grinned at her knowingly. His eyes skittered all over the room, taking everything in, shining a little brighter when they landed on Thomas. Edith had never liked him, and Michael had always called him Thomas' little Toadie in the Hole, thinking himself very funny for coining that phrase. But Edith could always tell that Jimmy wasn't happy with his situation. His eyes showed as much fear towards Thomas as they ever did attraction, and the way he'd lower his eyes and bite his lip when Thomas spoke to him always made Edith feel reluctant sympathy for him. The next time his flitting eyes made contact with hers again, she tried to smile at him.

"I'm not much of a mingler," she replied in a soft, slightly slurred voice. "Never was."

"Yeah," he said, looking at her thoughtfully. "You usually just stuck with Gregson. Where'd he get off to, then?" The little smile that Edith managed to produce slid sideways off her face and her stomach clenched up. Her expression must have said more than she intended, for Jimmy wrinkled his brow in concern and tipped his head as he studied her. She tried, but failed, to keep form shrinking away when he leaned closer to her.

"Never liked the bastard, meself," he confided in a low tone. "Thomas don't neither. If you could give over where he's at to Thomas, I don't think he'd ever be much of a bother. Not ever again. Thomas would see to him. He's got reasons, ya know." Jimmy looked at her expectantly, as if he thought such a revelation would be pleasing. Edith's fingers suddenly cramped and she released her hold on her purse with a little cry. Her cell phone, which had been ringing and vibrating in her purse nonstop for several hours, fell onto the floor. Jimmy bent down swiftly and picked it up, handing it to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you, Jimmy," she whispered, looking at the missed call log in disbelief. She didn't know why she had so many missed calls. Elsie's number was constant, and Edith had a sinking feeling she might have called her. But she was more surprised at Ros' number showing up multiple times. As she focused, trying to figure out why everyone was trying to reach her, Jimmy was asking about Michael again, but it sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of pudding.

"Edie? Hey Edie? You that wasted already?" his voice rose slightly in agitation. She looked up startled, clutching her phone and hitting the answer call button. "C'mon, Edie. Gimme something to tell Thomas..." Suddenly, her Aunt Rosamund's voice exploded out of her phone.

"Edith! Edith! It's Ros, darling! Where are you?!" Jimmy's eyebrows shot up.

"The fuck is THAT?" he asked. "Yer mommy calling you home, Edie?"

Edith felt bombarded by voices from both sides of her head, which was starting to spin madly, and dropped the phone into the purse without disengaging from the call. Ros' muffled voice continued to rail into the lining of Edith's purse, getting louder and more shrill as she demanded to know where she was and if she was alright. Edith dropped her head into her hands and tried to shut everything out. But all the voices, the music, Jimmy's taunting, and the incessant clamor of Ros on her phone would not be silenced. So she began to rock back and forth and beg for everyone to shut up, just shut up. Her wide eyes could see Jimmy hurrying over to a beckoning Thomas, various people lurching into and out of her vision, and the relentless flicker of a defective fluorescent in the kitchen.

_I just want it to be over. I just want it to be over. Oh God, please make it over. Please make it over. Please help me. Please._

_ Her lips moved soundlessly as her thoughts struggled to escape. In spite of her efforts, her thoughts turned to Michael and their many visits to his "old mate Thomas'" house. A good place to drink, to get leads on the extracurricular activities of the "bright young things" who were filling neighborhoods and living life as fully as their rather bloated pay checks would allow. The first time Michael had introduced her to Ecstacy, she had garnered an impromptu interview with a junior executive from Barclays first that led to an award winning series on the young urban professional's boredom and ennui and the subsequent explosion of designer drugs parties in gentrified, nice neighborhoods. Thomas began calling her his "Advertising Department." Every time a story would run, his business picked up. She had been so overwhelmed with everything that Michael was showing her, all the doors he was helping her open, sources he was helping her cultivate, that she didn't think much of him claiming co-authorship on her work. He was, after all, her editor. And her lover. And, eventually, her source for the drugs she quickly became addicted to. And she could get them all at Thomas'-drugs, stories, companionship, excitement..._

_ No matter how many times she would stagger down Thomas' front steps-sick, wasted, pathetic-Michael had been there for her. She was never bright enough to wonder why he was never as messed up as she was, why she grew to depend on him so much. She only loved him, and was convinced that he loved her. So stupid. So bloody naive and stupid..._

Edith clenched her eyes tightly shut, hoping to block the memories, but they continued to pound down the inside of her head, reminding her of every way she had destroyed her reputation, burned her bridges with her family, lost her friends. She began to pound her head with her fist until tears streamed down her face and chant a soft mantra of recrimination.

Ros continued to shout desperately into her phone, even thought it was clear that Edith was not going to answer her. After Edith's intitial pick-up, the background noise had became muffled, but it was clear to Ros that Edith was back at one of her old haunts, back to her old habits. Anthony, his long frame almost folded into the back seat, kept thrusting his head forwards closer to Ros' phone, straining to hear. Marmaduke drove steadily, his mustache twitching from time to time as he listened intently. With a sharp curse, Ros threw her phone down on the seat between them. Anthony immediately protested.

"Ros, she's on the line! Let me have it if you're not going to listen!" Ros glared at him and suggested an destination to Marmaduke in Camden Town. "Camden Town?! Why would she be THERE?"

"I know some of the places she used to go for drugs, Anthony. And you know nothing at all about her, apparently. So shut up or get out and walk," Ros ordered. Anthony bit back a retort. "Duke, I heard the name 'Jimmy.' Does that ring a bell for you?" Marmaduke thought a moment, then shook his head. A man of few words, he patted Ros' hand. Anthony wracked his brain for anybody named "Jimmy" Edith may have talked about, but after over three years, the details of their many conversations had faded somewhat. A wave of anger and frustration swept over him.

"Are we REALLY going to cruise various London suburbs and hope to see Edith staggering down the street?" he barked. Ros didn't spare him a glance. "Shouldn't we be going someplace they SELL drugs? Like Piccadilly?" Ros turned in her seat to offer him one of her patented dagger glares.

"Do you honestly think a woman of Edith's class needs to go to a curbside to purchase drugs? Are you that bloody STUPID?"

"I'm that bloody CONCERNED!" Anthony snapped back. "I'd go anywhere to find her and make sure she's safe." Marmaduke navigated the weekend traffic in silence as Ros and Anthony spatted back and forth.

"Well, you're fortunate you won't have to go lurking amongst the base heads, tweekers, and bingers on the strip," Ros retorted. When Anthony raised his eyebrow at her, she continued, "Oh yes. Edith has been quite an education. There are a great many places, places in quite nice neighborhoods, where a person can get just about anything they want at their convenience."

_All I ever needed was a compliant doctor and a good story. I don't know anything about her world. However am I going to help her out of it? Even my own experience that I was so determined to spare her is bloody useless to help her now. _

Anthony let out a bitter bark of laughter, causing Marmaduke to look at him curiously in the rear view. An uncomfortable silence fell and Anthony pressed his face to the windows, hoping by some extraordinary chance to see Edith walking down the sidewalk. He stealthily reached into the front seat and picked up Ros' phone, pressing it to his ear, desperate to hear anything. But all he could hear underneath the obvious sound of music and conversation was a very muffled small voice chanting "bloody stupid worthless idiot" like a prayer. He clenched his jaw and blinked his eyes furiously to keep the tears from spilling out as he listened to Edith's muffled voice speak straight to his soul.

Thomas' darkly handsome face swam into view as he peered at Edith. He gently folded her hand around a cup of whiskey and placed another pill in the center of her other palm.

"Looks like you could use another, Edie,' he said smoothly. "Toss that back...and we'll have a little chat about it."

**A/N- It'll get better, guys. I promise. You can beat me up in that little box right there...  
**


	8. The S stands for Strallan

**A/N- Don't own them and they'd probably run screaming if I did. Angsty but getting better. Trigger warning: drug use, some violence**

The "S" stands for Strallan

_It would go down so easily. It would make everything go away for awhile._

Edith focused intently on the pill in the palm of her hand. It weighed nothing; barely registered as a spark on the nerve endings of her palm. She rubbed her thumb gently over it, like a lover. So little, so nothing. So everything.

Thomas' face swam into the periphery of her vision. His dark eyebrows were raised expectantly and a smirk played around the corners of his mouth. He gave her a nod and gently tapped the back of the hand that held the pill.

"Bottoms up, Edie." The lightness of his tone didn't touch the darkness in his eyes-the calculating directness, that little snap of cruel pleasure, the utter lack of compassion. Behind him, Jimmy shifted fitfully from foot to foot. Someone from the back of the flat called for Thomas, but his gaze on Edith never wavered. As her eyes met his, from the depths of the drug and alcohol induced fog that surrounded her mind, Edith felt as if she had fallen into the oubliette she sought.

_But there's no way out. There's never been any way out by...by this. Oblivion, well, it doesn't come and go on command. If only it did._

The voice bellowing for Thomas increased in volume and agitation. Thomas turned his glance away from Edith's to snarl at Jimmy to see to it. Edith snapped her hand in a fist around the pill. When Thomas turned his attention back to her, he could see in her eyes that something had changed.

"Not interested, love? That's not the Edie I remember," Thomas' voice began to lower threateningly. "You seem to be wasting my time, Edie. Here I was, doing you a FAVOR!" he suddenly bellowed in her face, "getting you what you need, and you just PISS on all my hospitality!" Edith's breath caught in her throat and she began to tremble. Thomas grabbed her fisted hand roughly and pried her fingers open, causing the pill to fall into the carpet. "Stupid bitch."

Edith yanked her hand out of Thomas' and scrambled to her feet. The edges of her vision were going dark and her chest heaved as she tried to draw in a breath.

"WHERE'S GREGSON?" Thomas screamed in her face. "Where is that bloody bastard?" Edith shook her head wildly and opened her mouth to tell Thomas, again, that she didn't know, didn't WANT to know. But instead she felt a scream welling up from beneath her feet, a scream she couldn't stop, a scream that would never stop if she let it out. Her mouth opened and closed, but all that emerged was a whine that grew in intensity as Thomas looked at her in disgust.

"I don't have time for this. Jimmy! Settle Edie's tab and get her the fuck out of my flat." As he shoved Edith to one side, the scream broke, shattering the room and causing every head to turn towards her. At Jimmy's touch on her elbow, she screamed again, louder, and twisted wildly away from him.

"C'mon, Edie. You've pissed himself off enough for one night. You'd better get out." Jimmy tried to herd Edith towards the front door, as she kept screaming and thrashing out at any attempt to touch her. Jimmy scooped up her purse and opened the wallet, helping himself to all of her cash, then shoved it towards her. Edith snatched it from him and held it front of her like a make shift shield. "Fer Christ's sake, Edie! I ain't hurting you," Jimmy moaned as he looked nervously back at Thomas' thunderous face. "Keep moving."

Hardly able to see, unable to draw a full breath, and humiliatingly unable to stop the cries and shrieks coming out of her mouth, Edith staggered towards the door and the damp night. She plunged through, nearly falling down the stairs, as yet another horrible sense of deja vu rushed over her. She clutched the cockeyed bannister as Jimmy slung her cell phone out the door after her and slammed the bright blue door. It flew end over end and smashed into the sidewalk. Ignoring it, Edith made her trembling way down the stairs and blindly fled, away from the flat. Unable to stop the whimpering, she plunged her fist into her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood.

Anthony was unable to contain himself. As the muffled sounds of Edith speaking gave way to the muted rumble of masculine bellowing, he thrust himself up between the front seats to berate Ros.

"We CAN'T keep looking blindly. She's going to get hurt, or worse. Ros, we need to go to the police or something. We'll never find her like this!" Ros snatched her phone back.

"We're not looking blindly. And thank you for your concern, Sir Anthony, but she's already been hurt, or worse..." Ros broke off suddenly as the muffled sounds became louder and Edith could clearly be heard screaming as a man yelled at her and the phone hit the carpet.

"Stop this car! Stop this BLOODY car and let me out!" Anthony screamed at Marmaduke, pounding on the back of the seat. "I'll find her..."

"Don't tempt me!" Ros screeched back at him. "What do you intend to do, Strallan? Hmmm? Go rampaging around the streets of this suburb until you find a bobby and tell him that the woman you haven't seen in over three years has suddenly decided to go on a bender and you have no idea WHERE she is right now, but you'd greatly appreciate it if they would rescue her immediately so that they can bring charges against her? YOU'LL find her? YOU'LL save her, I suppose? That 'S' on your chest, Anthony, stands for Strallan, not Superman."

"Ah GOD, Ros! What do we do? What do we do?" The tenuous phone connection that had tethered them to Edith suddenly went out with a cheerful beep. Ros rapped out another address to Marmaduke, who sighed and put on his blinkers before catching Anthony's frantic and anguished gaze in the rear view.

"Stop pounding on the upholstery, you," he said with mild annoyance.

Edith cared for nothing at that moment other than putting distance between her and Thomas' flat. Her formal pumps made her stagger as the lingering effects of the drugs ripped through her body, so she slipped them off and tried carrying them. Within two blocks, she had dropped both of them and couldn't be bothered to bend down and fetch them. The whimpers just wouldn't stop. As she rounded a corner into another block, exhaustion suddenly caught up to her, making her stumble and fall to the sidewalk, skinning her palms viciously. The mostly deserted streets and dark flats were oblivious to her distress, and she sat up, resting her head on her knee, beginning to cry hoarsely.

Several cars went past, their headlights skipping over her huddled form. Edith knew it was only a mater of time before someone called the police, but she couldn't make herself care. A small car driving slowly down the opposite side of the street slowed almost to a stop. Edith didn't notice it turning illegally and returning, coming to stop next to her on the curb. As she lifted her head slowly, a small woman and a very large man rushed out of the car to her side. Warm arms were suddenly around her shoulders as a warm familiar voice began speaking soothingly to her.

"There, there, lass. We've found you. You're safe now." Edith looked into Elsie's warm, concerned eyes and broke down sobbing again. The large man knelt awkwardly beside them and examined her scraped palms. "Shhh. Shhhhh. We'll get you to your Aunt Ros' and take care of you."

"Elsie, she's in a pretty bad way," the large man rumbled. He glared off into the night as if he'd like to have a few words with whomever put Edith into this state.

"Help me get her into the car then, Charles," Elsie said briskly. Together they levered Edith gently up off of the sidewalk and half carried her to the car. Charles' big hands were gentle as they settled her into the passenger seat and buckled her in. Elsie got into the back and began dialing her phone as Charles pulled away from the curb.

Anthony hunched miserably in the backseat of Ros' car as she and Marmaduke quietly discussed where to go next. His hands twitched and his right shoulder throbbed. He was on the verge of breaking into sobs when Ros' phone rang. His head snapped up as Ros looked anxiously at the Caller ID and sighed. "It's Elsie" she informed Marmaduke, who nodded. "Elsie! Do you know...what?...she did?...what?...Oh thank God!...where is she? is she alright? do I need to...?...really?..." Ros released a big breath. "Thank God, Elsie. Oh, we've been so concerned...As a a matter of fact, I do have an idea what set her off..." Ros glared a moment in Anthony's direction. He was clutching the back of Ros' seat so tightly his fingers would leave marks and his knuckles began to cramp. "Right...we'll meet you in less than half an hour. Yes, thank you. Goodbye." Ros hung up and took a deep breath. "Elsie and Charles have her," she told Marmaduke unnecessarily. "We'll meet them at the house."

"She's safe?" Anthony choked out. He swallowed hard, trying to clear a throat that had suddenly gone tight with unshed tears.

"Safe enough for now, " Ros responded. Anthony fell back in his seat, trying to take deep breaths.

_She's safe. She's safe. She's safe. Oh thank God, she's safe. I need to see her. I need to know that I haven't...done more harm. I need to hear her voice. I need to speak to her, to explain. I need to know. Oh God, I need her._

Anthony pushed that last thought down with all the skill of a man well used to denying himself and simply repeated to himself as a mantra:

_She's safe. She's safe. She's safe._

**A/N-What? You didn't think I'd LEAVE her there, did you?  
**

**Oh...the typos keep slipping in. Sorry about that.**


	9. Frankly, my dear

**A/N- They're not mine, but they're remarkably pushy about being written. Many thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing!**

Frankly, my dear

Anthony barely allowed the car to come to a complete stop before he was out of it. Marmaduke pulled up to the curb in front of the townhouse, right behind Elsie's small car. Ros disembarked in a more sedate manner, shaking her head at Anthony and telling her husband to go ahead and garage the car.

Elsie was crouched next to the open passenger side door, trying to get some answers from a groggy and confused Edith. Charles was standing beside her. Anthony skidded to a stop and peered anxiously into the car, catching his breath at Edith's tear stained, exhausted face.

"Edith!" Elsie said sharply. "Edith, I need to know what you took and how much. Tell me, girl." Edith muttered unintelligibly and lolled her head back against the rest. "Edith!"

"I dunno, Elsie," she mumbled. "I dunno. Jus' so tired now. Lemme sleep."

"Was it smack again?" Elsie demanded. Edith shook her head wearily in the negative. "Did you hallucinate?" Again, a head shake. "Smoke? Inhalants?" Further head shakes. "Pills, then," Elsie concluded. "How many?" Edith waved her hand vaugely. "More than one?" Anthony felt a small boulder settle in his chest.

"Nooooo," Edith sighed. "Jus' one. Didn't even work. And some whiskey..." Elsie sat back on her heels, sheer relief on her face, and exhaled. Then she nodded to Charles, who also wore a look of relief.

"Alright, Charles. We can get her inside." Charles moved in as Elsie stood up, unbuckling Edith and gently lifting her legs out of the seat, supporting her upper body as he tried to help her stand. Elsie turned, expecting to see Ros, and was taken aback to look into Anthony's bright, blue concerned filled eyes. Ros shoved Anthony aside enough to embrace Elsie.

"Oh my dear! I don't know what we'd do without you and Charles. I'm so glad you found her!" Elsie patted Ros' back soothingly, still looking at Anthony with curiosity.

As Charles guided Edith out of the car, Anthony stepped forward to help, only to be met by a furious set of eyebrows and a skeptical look. Undaunted, Anthony stepped to Edith's side and reached out a hand to push her hair back out of her eyes.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Charles barked. Ros and Elsie looked over.

"Ah...so sorry. I'm Anthony Strallan. Let me give you a hand..." Elsie's eyes lit up with understanding when she heard his name.

"I don't care if you're Rhett bloody Butler," Charles snapped. "Get off with you and get out of the way." Anthony's own eyebrows went up in confusion.

"Rhett Butler?" Ros asked Elsie with a smirk. Elsie rolled her eyes.

"We were watching 'Gone with the Wind' when Edith rang me up," Elsie explained. Ros tried to stifle a snort of laughter. Charles let his frustrated gaze waver from Anthony just long enough to glare at Ros and Elsie before leveling it back with a scowl. Anthony scowled back and stayed by Edith's side. Edith looked between Charles and Anthony in confused amazement, as if she was watching two Labradors playing lawn tennis. Elsie sighed heavily.

"Alright. Eyebrows on stun, if you please, Charles." Charles grunted in response. "And you-Sir Anthony, isn't it..." Anthony nodded warily. "Well then. Charles has this well in hand. We've certainly had practice. So please step back and allow us to get Edith inside." Edith groaned and staggered. Charles held her up more securely.

"Unless your arm has made a miraculous recovery, Anthony, you may do more harm than help," Ros piped up, with a meaningful glare. "Not that THAT should be a new thing." Anthony reluctantly stepped a few feet feet away, his eyes never leaving Edith.

Charles guided Edith up the front steps and through the door into the entryway. She moaned and whinged as each motion made her feel dizzy and nauseous. Once inside, she could stand no more and her legs gave out as she emptied the contents of her stomach all over the tile and all over Charles. Ros and Elsie darted over to help steady Edith, who passed completely out. Anthony, who had trailed them in, smirked at Charles, who stood stock still, looking down at himself and Edith with a resigned expression. As Elsie and Ros lifted Edith out of the mess and tried to bring her around, he glared over at Anthony who cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I DID offer to help," he reminded Charles. A low grumble made its way out of Charles' chest.

"Enjoying this, are you?" Anthony schooled his face into a serious expression.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," he replied. Charles stared at him for a long moment, then turned away as his mouth twitched. Together, they watched as Elsie and Ros were able to bring Edith back enough to begin helping her up the stairs.

"Go ahead and get cleaned up, Charles," Ros called over her shoulder. "And Anthony...go away." Anthony rolled his eyes. Charles looked with sad disgust at his jacket and shoes, then proceeded to strip off while Anthony stood by awkwardly, his eyes following Edith as she was helped up the stairs. At the sound of a throat clearing, he and Charles turned to look at Marmaduke.

"Got you, did she?" he asked Charles genially. Charles nodded and sighed. "Don't move, old chap. I'll fetch you something to get you by." Throwing a puzzled glance at Anthony that clearly wondered why he was still hanging around, Marmaduke carefully avoided the mess on the floor and went up the stairs. Charles left his shoes, jacket and shirt in a pile off to the side, still managing to look dignified in a vest and splattered trousers.

"Why are you here?" he asked Anthony, breaking his reverie.

"Oh...erm...I'm an old frie...well, I guess I should say I've known Edith for..." Anthony trailed off. Charles continued to stare, clearly expecting a coherent answer. Anthony sighed deeply. "I was engaged to Edith over three years ago. When we met, I was still serving in Army Intelligence and had been wounded in Afghanistan. We were engaged when I was forced to resign my commission, and that, plus the pain from my wound and PTSD, led me to become addicted to prescription pain killers..." Anthony trailed off as Charles eyebrows went higher. "Well, long story short, I disappeared after our engagement party because I didn't want to saddle her with all my baggage. I haven't seen her for over three years and when I saw her tonight, well..." Anthony gave a sad bark of laughter. "Things just went completely to hell and she ran off in a panic attack. That's it really. " His voice lowered to a mumble. "I just need to know she's going to be ok..."

"Load of bollocks," Charles responded after a few moments. Anthony's head snapped up and he looked at Charles in disbelief. "None of that explains why you are STILL here NOW. Especially after Ros gave you your marching orders." Anthony snorted.

"I don't take orders from Ros. Never have." Charles just stared at him. "I take it you know Edith well?"

"Very well. We've been through quite a lot with Edith since she returned to England."

"Returned to England? Where was she? When was this?" Anthony asked in surprise. Charles grimaced, as if he regretted saying anything at all.

"Its not my place to discuss any of it. Especially not with you. You're not even involved."

"I am involved," Anthony shot back. "It was seeing me again unexpectedly that triggered all this tonight. I was hoping to talk with her soon...I owe her an explanation at least, but I never intended for this to happen. And now that it has, I'm not leaving until I have a chance to see her, talk with her, if she'll let me." His voice grew wistful and Charles looked at him appraisingly.

"Well, aside from all that, I'm not the one to tell you anything." Anthony nodded and looked down.

"I understand."

"What do you hope to accomplish here tonight?" Charles asked.

"I'm not sure exactly...I just want to help anyway I can..." A glimmer of an idea shot through Anthony's head.

_She'll need time and space to recover, but she'll need someone to listen...someone who understands a bit. She'll need to get away from triggers but be somewhere familiar...nonthreatening. I needed that too once I got out of the clinic; that's why I buried myself in Locksley...maybe... "_I may have thought of a way..."

_ Edith had loved Locksley. All the land was rented out to perfectly capable tenants who wouldn't have appreciated Anthony's interference, but who never seemed to mind his interest. The old manor had been in his family for eight generations; once it had been a functioning estate, but that all ended in the 1930s. Still, it was beautiful and secluded. Anthony couldn't believe Edith would enjoy such an out of the way place, but she swore that she couldn't think of anything better, as long as he was out of the way with her. He'd had her over for dinner for their fourth date, nervous about the out of date furnishings, but she had loved it. She had especially loved the library, his own favorite room, and the collection handed down from his grandfather. They had sat together on the well worn leather couch after dinner, his good arm cradling her shoulders, talking about books, writing, Anthony's army stories-only the funny ones, though. He watched her gesture in her enthusiasm, eyes shining at him until he couldn't take it anymore. Grabbing both her hands, he pulled her to him and kissed her until they had to come up for air. It hadn't been easy to maneuver around his sling, but Edith proved to be quite perseverant when she wanted something. She thought the bedroom was charming as well. Over their courtship, they became acquainted with the charms of most of the rooms, much to the consternation of the housekeeper, who learned to walk heavily and knock loudly. And Edith loved all of them. And him._

"Well...THIS has been quite an evening!" Elsie descended the stairs with an armful of clothing for Charles and a curious look for Anthony.

"How is our girl? She won't need the hospital, will she?" Charles asked as he accepted the shirt and shoes.

"Noooo. I don't believe so. Not this time" Elsie responded. "But I'll be staying here for the night. She'll need me in the morning and Ros is worn to a frazzle. Can Charles drop you off somewhere, Sir Anthony?" Charles didn't look best pleased about being volunteered and muttered something about "taxi service" under his breath. Elsie gave him a sharp poke with her elbow and looked expectantly at Anthony.

"Er...no thank you,' he responded. "I think I'll be staying as well."

"If you say so," she replied with a little smile.

"Don't I have anything to say about it?" snapped Ros from the top of the stairs. She strode down aggressively, glaring Anthony. "It is MY bloody house!"

"Well, I'll be going," Charles declared. He gave Elsie a quick peck and nodded at Anthony. "Good night, Ros."

"Good morning, almost," Ros replied. "Thank you so much for everything, Charles. I'm so sorry it interfered with movie night."

"I'll think about it tomorrow, Ros, for tomorrow is another day," he intoned in a stentorian voice. And left with a wink. Elsie and Ros watched him leave with indulgent shakes of their heads.

"Well, I'll go up. Goodnight, Ros." Elsie said, glancing from her to Anthony with amusement. Ros narrowed her eyes and puffed up, seemingly prepared to bodily throw Anthony from her entryway herself.

"Ros, I know how I can be of help to Edith," Anthony blurted quickly, hoping to stave off the storm, but to no avail.

"You've done QUITE enough for one lifetime..." she began.

"I'm going to offer to take her to Locksley!" Anthony interrupted. And was treated to a most rare sight indeed-Rosamund Painswick rendered absolutely speechless.


	10. It never works

**A/N-A bit longer. Things are moving along a bit. Thanks to everyone who is hanging in with this story; I love to know what you think :)**

It never works

Anthony knew full well that a speechless Ros was not a naturally occurring phenomenon and that he would have to be quick to take advantage of it. Ros would be a good ally to have, but a terrifying enemy. For all his bravado about not taking orders from Ros...well, just about everybody took orders from Ros eventually. She was born to command and interfere. Anthony took a deep, full breath and felt strangely confident.

"Hear me out," he began. "Edith needs to get away from the triggers of London, away to somewhere familiar, somewhere safe, somewhere she was happy once..." Anthony ruthlessly wallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "She needs time to process everything. She can do that at Locksley. No one will even know she's there, unless she tells them." Ros blinked rapidly and regained her equilibrium.

"You're forgetting one thing," she hissed venomously. "You're at Locksley. And you're the reason she went off the rails in the FIRST PLACE!" Anthony flapped his hand impatiently at her.

"I won't be there. Not unless she invites me to be. Do you really, really think I WANT to hurt her, Ros? That I'm out to destroy her? You KNOW why I left her. It was the stupidest bloody thing I've ever done, but it was always intended to protect her. ALWAYS."

"And how well did that work, hmmm?" Ros snapped back. "Your plans don't have a good track record where Edith is concerned, Anthony." They glared at one another until Ros looked slightly off to the side. "I don't think you INTEND to hurt her, Anthony. You're a bastard, not a monster."

"Well, thanks for that," Anthony spat back. "And with that ringing endorsement, I intend to offer Locksley to Edith as a place to recover." He felt his chest heave as his anger rose. Ros noticed his agitation.

"What do get out of this, Anthony? Absolution? Martyrdom? Some sense of rectifying your pathetic karma? Why do this instead of simply bowing back out her life and STAYING out this time?"

"For Christ's sake, Ros! I love her. I never stopped loving her. I left because I love her. I'm offering her my home for her recovery and leaving her alone because I LOVE HER!" Anthony's voice rose to a shout, and Ros took a step back in surprise. She met his angry, hurt eyes and saw a glimmer of wetness at the corners. Anthony blinked hard to keep from sobbing in Rosamund Painswick's entryway.

"She likely won't accept, Anthony," Ros replied in a much calmer tone. Anthony cocked his head towards her, as if he hadn't heard her clearly. While her words were in clear English, the kindness in her voice was utterly foreign in Anthony's experience. For a moment, he wondered if this was how she spoke to Edith when she needed bucking up-blunt but caring.

"If she won't, then she won't." Anthony felt suddenly wobbly on his feet and didn't know if it was from exhaustion or the impact of the risk he was taking. _If she won't...then I may never get to see her or talk to her again. I'll never be able to explain. She'll never know..._

Ros heaved a tired sigh. "I'm too tired to argue with you anymore. Feel free to sleep on one of the sofas in the library. They're hideously uncomfortable." Anthony smiled a bit at the return of the Ros he recognized. She turned to trudge back up the stairs.

"Thank you, Ros," Anthony called after her. She just waved her arm dismissively.

Edith slowly crawled into consciousness, clutching the duvet around herself and shivering. The room was still dark thanks to the thick curtains, but she could see a sliver of light coming between them that made her think the sun was about to rise. For a moment, she had no idea where she was and whimpered as she curled into a ball. Her nose recognized the familiar smell of the detergent Ros used on all her sheets before her brain could process that no one was going to shout harshly at her or pull her from the bed. As she began to recognize the bed and room she always stayed in at her aunt's, she also began to remember flickers and bits of the previous night. The aches and pains began to make themselves known as she struggled to unwrap herself from the covers. And her head was throbbing like a strobe light. Someone (Ros? Elsie?) had put her into a nightshirt. As she sat on the edge of the bed, the room tipped and bucked, making her moan with pain and frustration.

_Oh my God. What did I do? I hardly remember anything. _She shut her eyes tightly against the sway of the room and memories began to riot in her mind, tipping over her mental furniture and making a liar of her thoughts. She began to remember too well.

_I went to Thomas. Oh God, how could I have gone back to Thomas? Why did I... _Images of the gala flooded into her head-the nerve wracking wait to speak, the Xanex she took to calm her nerves, the incredible pair of bright blue eyes that charged out of her past and blew the lid off of her composure.

"Anthony Strallan," she whispered into the deep silence of the morning, her words immediately absorbed by the thick carpet. "Anthony Strallan was there." She waited for the anger or sadness to rise up in her heart. When nothing filled her but a distant longing, she rose unsteadily from the bed and staggered through the room to the chest of drawers, hoping to find some clothes, while tears streamed unheeded down her face.

Ros had been right. The sofa was hideously uncomfortable. It was too short for his length, hard as a rock under his lumbar vertebrae and made his shoulder ache as he tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would allow him to close his eyes and doze. He was about to give up and stretch out on the floor when he heard a noise from the entryway. Immediately, his battle trained senses went on alert. One moment he was on the couch in Ros' library, the next he was hunched down behind an APC, ears straining into the warm darkness of a moonless night, waiting to hear the tell tale scrape of a boot against the rock of the mountain side. He gasped as his eyes refocused on the shelves of books, desk and standing lamps of the room, checking to make sure his hand was clutching the hard leather of the arm of the couch and not his pistol grip. Willing himself not to shake, he slowly stood and crept to the open door, making no sound as he peered into the gloom of the entryway. The sun was probably an hour away from rising, but the sky through the tall windows was lightening every minute. His eyes found a small figure standing in front of the door, fumbling with the lock.

"Edith," he breathed, unaware that he had said it aloud. At his whisper, Edith spun around, nearly losing her balance, and pressed her back against the door. He could see the whites of her eyes as she peered at him. Afraid of provoking another panic attack, Anthony stayed where he was even thought every part of him wanted to run to her and lead her away from the door she was clearly trying to sneak out of. "Edith, please don't go. Not like this." Edith covered her mouth with her hand to stem the cry welling up in her. His eyes bore into hers and he could see the tracks left by her tears. Taking a deep breath, hoping to calm her by his actions, Anthony sat down on the floor, his eyes never leaving hers.

"It never works,' he said in a conversational tone. Edith drew in a great gasping breath.

"What...what do you...what never works?" she stammered.

"Leaving to protect others, to save them from yourself. It doesn't work."

"How...how did you..." Edith began with a frown. "I was...I just needed some air." Anthony continued to hold her gaze, tilting his head to one side and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "I thought I had dreamed you," she whispered suddenly. "I...I hoped that I had." Anthony felt her words in his chest, squeezing painfully.

"Please stay," he said quietly. "Stay for Ros and Elsie, so they won't worry, so they can help you. Stay for yourself, so you'll be surrounded by people you can trust, who love you. Stay for..." he cut himself off. "Just...stay." His voice lowered even further to a whisper that echoed through the entryway as if he'd shouted. "Don't make the same mistake I did. Please. I beg you." Edith moved slowly away from the front door, skirting the mess she vaguely remembered making, taking halting steps towards the library door where Anthony was sitting. She didn't know exactly what she would do when she reached him-help him stand or kick him into unconsciousness. His eyes widened as she came closer and his heart began to beat painfully fast. Everything stopped when a Scottish brogue boomed Edith's name from the top of the stairs.

"Oh, dear Lord!" Elsie gasped as she flew down the stairs. "When I saw your room empty, my girl..." She stopped abruptly at seeing Anthony sprawled on the floor, staring up at Edith as if he was a supplicant approaching his goddess with proper respect. Edith reached out to Elsie and received a fierce hug. Holding Edith's face between her hands, Elsie wiped a new tear away with her thumb and made shushing noises. Anthony began to lever himself to his feet, making a hash of it as his back, stiff from the beating the couch had administered, refused to cooperate. Elsie watched with amusement; Edith with resignation.

"Well now," Elsie said brightly as Anthony finally struggled to his feet, "I think its time for a cuppa and a chat. Let's all go into the kitchen, shall we?"

The sudden harshness of the kitchen lights pressed painfully on Edith's eyes. She immediately went to the high stool that was stored under the counter and pulled it out. This was her stool, her's from the time she was too little to see over the edge of the counter. Uncle Duke would plant her on it and putter around in the kitchen, humming softly and nodding in all the right places as Edith would chatter incessantly. As she grew older, it was where she'd sit when she and her aunt had heart-to-heart talks about boys, school, and vicious sibling rivalry while Ros propped her elbows on the island and a cup of tea cooled in front of her. It was her stool, and in spite of how wobbly she was at the moment, she felt steady on it.

Elsie puttered about as if she was in her own kitchen, getting the kettle on and setting out the tea things. Anthony leaned awkwardly against the island fatigue beginning to catch up to him. He tried to catch Edith's eyes again, wanting that connection to her desperately. But in the bright light, her eyes skittered around the room, resting on everything else and only surreptitiously darting to his face, his hands. Anthony felt his eyes drooping and was taken aback when a steaming cup of tea was firmly placed in front of him.

"Sooo," Elsie began as they all cupped their mugs and took cautious sips. "Edith, let's talk a bit about what happened last night." Edith took a deep shuddering breath and began to give a disjointed account of anxiety, fear and shock. Anthony shifted uncomfortably and Elsie gave him a pointed look. He cleared his throat.

"Should I step out for a bit? Give you some privacy?" Elsie looked at Edith and Edith closed her eyes and shook her head.

"You may as well stay, Anthony. Its not like you weren't there and didn't see everything." A tiny smile quirked the corner of Elsie's mouth and she nodded, as if something had been confirmed.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," Anthony blurted, wincing at how the words seemed to limp out of his mouth. Edith's eyes got wide and, surprising them all, she burst out in mirthless laughter. Elsie also began to chuckle as Anthony's face became more confused, then smoothed out to a smile as the full impact of his statement hit him. "I'm rather hopeless, aren't I." Edith just shook her head and a ghost of a real smile flickered across her face.

"What do you want, Anthony? Really?" She held up a hand as he began to sputter an apology. "I know you didn't intend to see me last night. I know you never wanted things to...go so badly. But what do you want now that you've seen what a bloody mess I am?"

"I...I...just," Anthony struggled to find words that would touch her in the way he wished to wrap her in his arms. "I want to help, anyway I can, Edith. I can't know everything you've gone through, but I've some...experience in healing. I know it takes time and a safe place. And I can give you that." _I would give you everything, if you'd take it. If you could forgive me. Even if you can't forgive me._

"Anthony...I don't know what you mean. What healing? What can be done?" Edith took a shuddering breath. "Some things are broken beyond repair, you know."

"I thought that too, once. I thought I was shattered and couldn't bear that y-...that someone should have to trod across the sharp pieces forever. So I...I went and found a place where I could just be broken." Anthony's eyes were pools of earnestness as all his planned explanations and apologies fell away. Edith felt as if she was drowning in them. "And I began to be repaired. I...I found ways to put pieces back together. Nothing like the original, but that wasn't any great tragedy..."

"Anthony..." Edith tried to interrupt. But he kept on as if he hadn't heard her.

"I was hopelessly, helplessly addicted to prescription opiates. It took almost a year in clinic with counseling to get through that." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how very much he had wanted the sweet oblivion of his meds during the encounter with Edith at the gala. "I'm through it, but it isn't gone. It may never be. I was released and I...I went home. I went back to Locksley, and stayed, locked away, searching for my missing shards." He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Never did find them all, but I came back together." Edith's eyes were fixed on his, her mouth open slightly as she breathed in the pain of his words.

"I want to offer you Locksley, Edith." _I want to offer you my heart, my soul, every wretched part of me. _Edith drew in a breath to reply and he forged on. "A place you can go to be safe, to recover. Stay as long as you like or need...I...I wouldn't bother you there. I'd go somewhere else, if you'd rather I do." For a moment, Anthony staggered back against the island as if a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. Then he straightened up and waited for her response. Edith opened her mouth to refuse his offer and found that she could say nothing.

"Well," Elsie's voice broke into the silence, startling them both. "That seems like a very good idea and a generous offer. Edith, would you like to go to Locksley?" An incoherent sound of outrage came from the door to the kitchen. Ros stood there, imposing in a fluffy robe, and fuming.

"Elsie! Have you gone as barking mad as HE has? What are you thinking?!"

"I'm thinking that a sanctuary is just what Edith needs," Elsie replied calmly, "and Sir Anthony has been kind enough to offer one." Ros sputtered.

"Edith, darling...you can't possibly be considering this?" Edith rubbed her temples and cast a weary look at Anthony, who sighed heavily. "Edith, there are other places you can go to recover. Places with staff to help you, neutral places that won't keep triggering you..."

"Yes," Edith broke in, "but they won't be places where I ever had any happy memories to counteract the nightmares, will they? They won't be in the place I was raised, where I haven't been in over two years. They'll be cold and clinical and..." she drew in a shuddering breath "and they won't work any better than the last place did, Ros." Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "We've tried this before and I think...I think if I'm ever going to find my way back to myself, I need to be where there is still a little piece of me." Ros' face melted into tears and she threw her arms around Edith.

Anthony released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Elsie looked at him with sympathy and patted his arm.

"Why don't you go on ahead back to your hotel or flat, wherever you're staying, and get your things ready to go back to the country. I'll help Edith get ready and we'll meet you at Kings Cross, hmm?"


	11. Hoping does everything

**A/N- Not mine, but they won't shut up until I write about them. So...any infringement is totally on them. Transition chapter here-gotta get them out to the country. Thanks for reading!**

Hoping does everything

Anthony struggled to set aside his reluctance to leave Edith for even a moment. He stood, swaying tiredly, waiting for an opportune moment to tell Edith he'd see her soon. Elsie made shoo-ing motions with her hands and smiled kindly.

"We've got things under control here, Sir Anthony. Don't worry," she reassured him. He smiled slightly in response, but couldn't bring himself to be reassured.

_You're not afraid she's going to break away and return to that horrible place from last night. You're afraid that she's going to give this some more thought and decide that its the worst idea she's ever heard and she never wants to see you again and won't even talk to you or answer your calls and it'll serve you right for leaving like you did. You're afraid you've risked it all and lost on this move. You're not worried about her, you blithering fool; you're worried about YOU._

"Right then," he blurted too loudly. "I'll...uh...just get my things together. Should I come back for you and we'll go to the station together?" he asked hopefully. Edith disengaged from Ros and shook her head.

"I have to get some things from my flat. Elsie and I will meet you there," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. Anthony gave a brisk nod and stood awkwardly for another moment before turning too abruptly and walking into the entryway, taking out his phone to call a cab.

"You're still here? Good Lord Almighty!" Marmaduke's voice said from the stairs with mild alarm. His mustache twitched slightly. Anthony didn't quite know how to respond to the obvious statement other than nodding politely. Muttering under his breath , Marmaduke carried on into the kitchen with one last disbelieving look over his shoulder. No sooner did he disappear through the hall than Ros stormed out and stopped in front of Anthony.

"Yes...thank you. I'll be waiting...," he caught Ros' glare, "um...out front on the walk, I suppose." Anthony hung up and sighed, waiting for Ros to begin berating him. Ros looked mildly pleased that he had made arrangements to leave and did not immediately begin tearing strips off of him. Anthony remembered a certain Technical Sergeant in his first unit who had the uncanny ability to make young soldiers break out in self incriminating confessions of all sorts of wrong-doings simply by looking at them in a particular way. Ros' expression made Anthony feel like he needed to make a good confession right then and there.

"Ros, I know you don't agree with this. And I don't know how we're going to work it out so no one gets hurt again, but if anyone gets hurt, it won't be Edith this time. I swear it and..." he began. Ros held up a palm and he stopped immediately.

"Did you mean what you said last night, Anthony?" she asked. "Do you love Edith?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "I do."

"Do you love her enough to let her go if that's what she discovers she needs? To step away from her life when its HER decision? To allow her to make her own decision?" Anthony suddenly found the tile pattern on the entryway floor fascinating

"I do," he replied softly. "I have to. Nothing but heartbreak ever came from me making decisions for us. I can only hope she'll..." he trailed off, not wanting to express in words his most desperate hope that Edith could ever love him again enough to give him a second chance. Ros heaved a sigh.

"I can't imagine any two people more screwed up than the two of you. Perhaps that will be what makes this work...if it does." Anthony looked up into Ros' eyes in silent thanks. "Now, for the last time, get out of my house." Anthony grinned at her tone, took one last longing look back towards the kitchen, and slipped out of Ros' front door to wait for the arrival of his cab. He only hoped it wasn't the same driver as last night.

Edith stood in the middle of her small living room in indecision. The morning sun streaming through the half pulled blinds shimmered on the fine layer of dust on her end tables and writing desk. Elsie pulled a finger along it and looked as if she'd like to whip out a rag and some polish and get busy.

"I've been a bit too busy to get around to the housecleaning in the last week," Edith said defensively.

"Well there's no time to get to it now. The driver's waiting for us. What are you going to need from your chest?" Elsie asked as she walked towards Edith's bedroom. Not receiving a reply, she turned back to see Edith still standing n the middle of the room with her face in her hands. "Edith? What is it, my girl?"

Oh, Elsie! Why am I doing this? Why am I letting Anthony bloody Strallan back into my life?" Elsie sighed and took Edith's arm, gently leading her to the couch.

"It's not like he's ever been OUT of your life, my girl. How many times did we talk about how you feel about him, hmmm? Physical absence doesn't mean he's out of your life, and you know it."

""But he LEFT. I can't help still loving him, but how can I trust him? And here I am, going to go live at his home...Oh God. I'm a fool. I've proved it over and over. I can't make good decisions...what am I getting myself into?" Edith's voice began rising as she became more and more agitated. Elsie began smoothing her hand up and down her arm.

"Now listen. You're going to Locksly for the isolation, to get away from the triggers. You may take your laptop, but DO NOT be using the internet for the first two weeks-do you understand me? Not to e-mail, or research, or ANYTHING. Give yourself time away, Edith..."

"I don't even know if Locksley HAS internet. We never bothered going on line when I was there before. Always had other things on our minds..."

"I can imagine," Elsie responded dryly. "You're going to Locksley to get through the physical addiction, and Sir Anthony has some experience there. This fall out of recovery wasn't so bad this time, but its going to take it toll, Edith. And you know it. You'll have fresh air, opportunities for exercise, quiet, and someone to talk to, if you need it."

"Who? Who will I talk to, Elsie? You won't be there. Anthony has made it clear that HE won't be there either. I don't blame him; I wouldn't want to be around me either..."

"Stop that!" Elsie barked sharply, causing Edith to flinch. The soothing touch of Elsie's hand on her arm continued, even as Elsie's tone changed. "I was standing right there when he made the offer and he said IF you want him to, he'll go away. And maybe YOU didn't see his face when he said it, but I did, and that's the very last thing he wants." Edith looked at Elsie skeptically and Elsie nodded at her. "This is an opportunity that you haven't had yet to confront your past a little deeper, and he's been so much a part of that past, a part of you. I don't advise sending him away, although I'm quite certain he'd go if you told him to."

"Can I do this?" Edith mused, mostly to herself. But Elsie didn't hesitate to answer.

"Of course you can. With all the work we've done together, Edith, you've not yet reached a point of being able to love yourself. Perhaps, being with someone who loves you like he does, will help you in a way I could never do." At her wide eyed stare, Elsie smiled and chucked her under the chin. "Maybe...maybe you'll even feel safe enough to show him you love him back." Edith stared off past Elsie's face for a moment, lost in memory.

_There was a time when I never felt safer than tucked against him, under his good arm. There was a time when I came to hardly notice that he couldn't quite hold me with both arms because I felt so right just with one. I've never felt so safe since. _

Edith's face crumpled and she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks. "Elsie, I can't have that again. I know I can't. And hoping for it does nothing but tears me apart every time." Elsie held her and rocked her, murmuring soothingly into her hair.

"Oh no, my dear. You're quite wrong," she said as she stroked her head. "Hoping does everything, if you've the courage to try."

"_Express Service to Edinburgh is boarding at this time on platform 6., stopping in.."_

Anthony stood next to the carriages and looked frantically around for any sight of Elsie or Edith. While his brain clamored incessantly that they weren't coming, that he should just go ahead and board, slink back to Yorkshire and bloody well stay there this time, he tried to scan the station in a methodical fashion, eyes sweeping from side to side in a grid pattern that allowed him to take in everything. _Sniper's eyes, missing nothing, focusing like a laser when the target is acquired..._

Elsie spotted him as he stood like a statue, head and eyes swiveling. She waved vigorously until the movement attracted his eye and could see the relief spread across his face. Not dropping his eyes from her, he began to move across an increasing stream of people moving from trains to terminal. As he got closer, he noticed with part of his mind that she was standing outside of the Ladies loo. She motioned him to stop when he was several feet away and ducked into the restroom. He was vaguely aware that he must look rather odd, standing and staring intently at the door to the Ladies, but he wasn't going to take the chance of losing them in the crowd. Elsie popped back out and came towards him with a smile.

"Edith wasn't feeling the best, so she's taking a moment before you get on the train. Do you need any help with bags?" Anthony shook his head and gestured to the travel bag on his shoulder.

"No, I'm good. Always traveled light, you know," he replied with a crooked smile. He had taken the opportunity to change into something more casual and less rumpled than his black tie for the trip home. The casual look of khaki trousers and jumper made him seem a bit younger, and certainly less uptight. But Elsie could see the tension in his eyes and the way he carried his shoulders in a perpetual stoop. "Is Edith...is she sick to her stomach? I can remember being..."

"She's a little queasy, yes," Elsie interrupted, looking hard at his face. "Sir Anthony..."

"Just Anthony...please." Elsie nodded.

"Anthony, then. Are you quite certain you're not regretting your offer from this morning? Its not an easy thing, taking on a houseguest for an indefinite period. Especially when you're used to your privacy." _Especially when you share so much baggage._

"N-no," Anthony sputtered. "Oh no! Not at all. I'm so grateful she's allowing me to help in any way." Elsie looked unconvinced. "God, I'm not good at expressing myself where Edith is concerned. If my home can be like a home to her, for any length of time, that is what I want. Whether I'm there or not..."

"Oh, I very much doubt Edith intends to banish you from your home, Anthony," Elsie broke in with a little twinkle in her eye. Just then, the door to the Ladies swung open and Edith appeared, looking pale and mopping her neck with a damp handkerchief. She pulled a rolling case with her other hand and shifted a laptop bag restlessly on her shoulder. Anthony made a motion to take her bag.

"I've got it," she said shortly. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long," Anthony replied, "but they've made a boarding call, so we'd better get on or we'll have a bit of a wait for the next express." Edith let go off her bag long enough to wrap Elsie in a terrific hug. Elsie whispered into her ear and Edith nodded.

"Very well. I'll give you a call in the next few days, my dear." Edith smiled wanly at Elsie and began trudging towards the carriages, paying little attention to the flow of pedestrians and not looking at Anthony. He came up along side of her and extended his hand silently as they arrived at the door to the carriage. As the final boarding call ran through the terminal, she placed her hand in his and he helped her up the three steps.

Resisting the urge to pull her closer to him when she placed her hand in his, Anthony lifted their bags up after him and followed Edith down the aisle to a pair of facing seats. The train began to roll as he stowed their bags away. He dropped into the seat facing Edith and tried desperately to think of something to say. Edith glanced over at him and grimaced.

"Its ok, Anthony. We don't need to fill the trip with chat. In fact, I could use a nap." Anthony felt a smile quirk his lips.

"You could always tell what I was thinking," he murmured. Edith's face froze for a moment in a brief moment of anguish, then it smoothed out neutrally.

"Not always," she responded. Anthony felt like kicking himself quite vigorously, and Edith rolled her eyes as that emotion too was quite clearly expressed in the pained twist of his mouth. She closed her eyes and leaned back against her seat as the cityscape began to give way to larger gardens and sparser populations.

Anthony watched her eyelids flutter and her breathing slow. There was a pain in his chest that burned like hot brass. But he stood sentinel, even though his own eyes begged to close as he felt the gentle rocking of the train creep up through his spine, and probed every sore spot on his heart, remembering how happy Edith and he had been once. And how much it had hurt when he ran away from it, too afraid of himself to trust the love that they shared.

"I only wanted you to be happy, Edith," he whispered to her sleeping figure. "That's all I ever wanted. That's all I still want. Is there any chance, any chance at all, you might ever be happy with me again?"

While reaching out with his heart, waiting for some sort of answer, the long and difficult night finally caught up with Anthony. His eyes closed and he slumped over in his seat, sliding into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the rocking of the train and the slow breathing of Edith, comforted that she was sleeping closer to him than she had in over three years.

**A/N the second- if anyone would be interested in beta-ing for me, drop me a PM. I think another set of eyes and brains would effect an improvement on the final product.**


	12. You could have said something

**A/N- As much as I might wish otherwise, they do not belong to me. If you find this chapter to be polished to a high sheen and singing aloud with sparkling wit, I give credit to my brilliant beta, adamsforthought. They're finally talking to each other - sort of - so enjoy! And let me know what you think.  
**

You could have said something

Anthony isn't sure if it's an internal clock, or if he just sleeps so lightly he hears the announcements in his sleep and knows when to wake up. He has never slept past his stop on the train. Ten minutes before the stop for Ripon is called, he shakes himself awake abruptly. Running his hand absently through his hair, he sits up and looks immediately at the seat across from him. Edith is still sleeping heavily, slumped against the window, clutching her cardigan to her. She has drawn her legs up onto the seat and curled them close to her body, just as child might nap on a couch. Anthony leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped lightly between his knees, and allowed his eyes to drink her in.

_I haven't seen anything so lovely in over three years. And if she wakes up right now and sees me staring at her like this, she'll likely ride the train right back to London. But she's here, now, four feet away from me, and I'm not strong enough to look away. _

Anthony closed his eyes, remembering other times he had watched her sleep...

_I always woke up first - habit of service, possibly, or simply because I needed to take my drugs if I was going to get through the day. And her face would be pressed against my arm, or my chest, and I couldn't move without her stirring a little. And when her eyes would open, before she was truly awake, I would fall into them, every single time...they would smile before the rest of her face - first her eyes, then her mouth, then her cheeks and chin - it was like watching a wave of joy roll in, because she was happy to be with me, happy to love me... God, why am I doing this to myself?_

Snapping his eyes open, he deliberately turned his head to look out the window, trying to banish the memories. Clenching his jaw, he berated himself, with a firm reminder that he was doing this for Edith, not to indulge in hopes that were unlikely to ever be fulfilled and were more than he deserved. The announcement rippled through the carriage that Ripon was the next stop.

Turning back to Edith, he reached out and gingerly stroked her arm, hoping to wake her gently, alert for any sudden changes that might indicate fear or the beginning of panic. She muttered and rubbed her face against the glass of the window. Anthony bit back a smile and continued to run his hand lightly up and down her forearm, whispering her name. With a groan and a whimper, Edith's eyes began to flicker open. Her semi conscious gaze settled on his face and the deep brown of her eyes softened. Anthony watched, stunned, as a small sleepy smile slowly appeared on her lips.

Edith felt the soothing stroke of someone's hand on her arm and heard her name from somewhere over her head. Groaning against her body fighting for a just a few minutes of rest, she slowly opened her eyes. As her brain struggled to remember where she was, she was further confused by seeing Anthony's face not far from her own. Caught between deep asleep and almost full consciousness, she smiled as the happiness she had always felt waking up next to him filled her like it had never been gone.

It was his eyes widening in response that suddenly brought back a flood of other memories and Edith sat up abruptly, wiping her mouth and tearing her eyes from his. The smile she hardly knew she was making disappeared, and she cleared her throat, hoping not to croak when she spoke to him. Anthony let go of her arm the moment she moved and sat back like she'd snapped at him.

"Is this our stop?" she asked with a sleepy rasp, busying herself with straightening her clothes and avoiding his eyes.

"Er...um...oh yes! Yes, it is." Anthony stood abruptly, nearly hitting his head on the sloping ceiling. "I'll get the bags, shall I?" Without waiting for a response, he gathered their few things. Edith stood slowly, stretching her legs out as they tingled and burned from the position she had slept in. She reached out her hand for her laptop bag and swung it onto her shoulder, staggering slightly. Then she motioned for Anthony to give her the rolling bag. "I can get it," Anthony assured her.

"You've got your own things to carry," she scolded. "Let me have it."

"Really, its no trouble. I can..."

"Anthony!" With a sigh, Anthony handed over the handle and stepped back to allow her to move towards the doors first. Swinging his own bag over his good, left shoulder, he winced as the motion caused his already throbbing right shoulder to scream in protest. Edith caught his pained expression and extended her hand out to him before she thought. "Why don't you let me take that as well? I have another shoulder."

"I've improved quite a bit in three years, Edith," he replied with irritation. "I've been carrying my own bags for a while now." Edith dropped her eyes and her hand.

"Sorry. I was just..." she stopped and drew in a breath as the doors opened. Wasting no time, they disembarked and walked a few feet away from the carriage. Anthony was frowning slightly. Edith turned to face him. "I'm sorry," she said again. "You do appear to have improved. I just wasn't thinking...there's a lot I don't know about you now." The frown became a crooked little smile - the one that had always made her smile back.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you," he replied. "There've been a lot of changes, I suppose..." Anthony abruptly cut himself off before he said something inane about catching up, thankful that his filters seemed to be working at the moment. Edith looked at him curiously, waiting for him to finish, then shrugged when he didn't.

"Alright then," she said with a false brightness. "Is your car in the car park, or are we taking a taxi to Locksley?"

Anthony made a sweeping gesture towards the car park. "After you. You'll recognize it; its the same car I always had." At her amused look, he smiled and added: "Some things don't ever change."

When she saw the familiar, dusty brown Land Rover, she grinned. Her eyes swept over the interior as Anthony lifted the back and began stowing their bags. There were a few towels folded up in a corner of the back compartment, just where the back seat folded, and she reddened, remembering that they had spread them over the back after a quick dip in the pond near Anthony's house without suits had led to an afternoon of lovemaking in the back of the Land Rover and nearly getting caught by one of the local farmers. They were still in the back of the car. Hoping he hadn't noticed, she stole a quick look over at Anthony, who was closing and latching the back. He noticed her intent look.

"What?" he asked, thinking he'd missed something she'd said. Edith shook her head to clear those memories away and felt suddenly sad that she did.

"Nothing. We'd better be getting on, hadn't we?"

"Yes. If you'd like." Anthony opened her door for her, then slid into the driver's side. He was quite adept, propping his right arm on the wheel and manipulating the shifter on the steering column with his left hand. She'd asked him once why he didn't get it converted to be used entirely with his left hand. He had seemed surprised by the question, assuming he did fine just as it was. After spending some time in the car with him, Edith had to agree.

Anthony started the car and let it warm up, listening closely to the engine noises. Edith watched him from the corner of her eye, enjoying the serious expression on his face. She was surprised to find herself wanting to tease him a little bit. Just as she was about to ask him if they were going to get to Locksley before morning, he nodded, satisfied, and put the car into reverse. Soon they were rolling smoothly down the road towards Locksley and Edith found herself fascinated by the countryside rolling by. It had really been far too long since she had been home.

_But this really isn't my home anymore, is it? I doubt I'll be welcome at Downton, and Locksley should have been my home and...wasn't. It's so beautiful here, and none of it is for me anymore._

A tear trickled down her face as she watched the familiar, yet not the same, landscape roll past, feeling a tug of homesickness now that she was back. Anthony glanced over, as he had been doing for miles, every time he felt safe enough to take his eyes off of the road for an instant. He had been enjoying watching her happiness with the drive, and was startled to see the change in her expression. Without thinking, he reached out his right arm clumsily to place his hand on hers. She didn't turn to look at him, but she didn't jerk away either. And his heart beat faster as she turned her hand to squeeze his before releasing it.

"I feel so silly, getting all nostalgic for this place, as thought it's been a decade since I've been back. Really, it hasn't been all that long," she spoke to the window.

"I would say it's been a lifetime for you, actually," he replied. She focused on his reflection in the window and nodded.

"It feels that way. It really does." Edith played with the seatbelt across her chest absently, then took a deep breath. "Anthony...I haven't thanked you yet for inviting me to Locksley." Anthony smiled at her briefly, to show that she had his attention. "I'm...I'm very grateful. I know it won't be easy on you to have me there. And...and you don't need to leave. I won't throw you out of your own house."

"Anytime you find you need more privacy or space, just say the word and I'll decamp for as long as you like," Anthony replied, concentrating on the road instead of trying to meet her eye. "You're quite welcome, Edith. I'll...I'll be glad to have you here." As Anthony prepared for the upcoming turn into the drive that led to Locksley, he shot sidelong glances at her, reminding him all too clearly of school days when he would try to watch the girl he admired without getting caught out and embarrassed.

_Good Lord...you're a grown man! Why are you acting like a fifth former? You'll be checking your face for spots next._

Edith watched out the windscreen for the first view of Locksley as they crested a hill. The beautiful, brick home looked very much as it had the first time Anthony had brought her here, although the landscaping wasn't as crisp and cared for. Anthony smiled as his home came into view and she found herself smiling at him. The car pulled around to the garage.

"Welcome back to Locksley, Edith." The door connecting the garage to the house flew open and a petite older woman bustled out of it, hardly waiting for Anthony to get out of the car before starting to scold him.

"So, you think a vague message on the answering machine is enough for me to get everything prepared for the first houseguest we've had here in years, Anthony Strallan?"

"Hello, Jenny. Its good to see you too," Anthony teased as he hugged his housekeeper with his good arm. She swatted him lightly on the chest and tried to keep up a scowl, but she was clearly too curious about the car's other occupant to keep up the outraged facade. Edith had been watching with amusement and got out of the car, coming into full view. The woman's face was shocked.

"Lady Edith?! Dear Lord! Your houseguest is Lady Edith and you didn't think to tell me?! You could have said something!" Anthony lifted his hand defensively, as it appeared he was in for another swat. Edith smiled tentatively.

"So...you remember me, Mrs. Cook?"

"Remember you?! Good heavens! I've prayed for your return for over three years while I looked after Mr. Stroppy Wobbler here!" She shoved Anthony aside and made her way around the car to take Edith's hands in hers. Edith couldn't hold back a snort of laughter at her description of Anthony.

"Why do I put up with this?" Anthony asked rhetorically.

"Because no one else will put up with you," Jenny snapped back smartly. Anthony smiled as he watched Jenny put her arm around Edith's shoulder and lead her into the house, chatting away a mile a minute and not giving Edith a chance to get a word in edgewise.

"I'll just get the bags then," Anthony announced to the empty garage. With a sigh, he gathered his and Edith's things and followed the pair into the house.

"Of course, I just made up one of the guest rooms, having NO idea who was coming..." Jenny was rattling on as she and Edith headed for the stairs.

"The guest room is fine," Edith interrupted, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. The housekeeper cast a surprised look at her, and Edith felt heat rising in her face as she remembered where she'd stayed the last time she was at Locksley. "I mean... thank you for getting everything ready for me. I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable in the guest room."

Anthony caught up to them, grunting a little as he maneuvered the rolling bag with his good arm while juggling two shoulder bags. He looked between the two of them with confusion.

"Well then," Jenny said after a pause. "Follow me, dear, and I'll take you to it. Oh Anthony, don't be daft. Give me that rolling bag." Anthony made no objection as she took the rolling bag from his hand, pushed the handle in, and began to carry it up the stairs as if it weighed nothing. Edith, still flushed, looked at Anthony with laughter in her eyes.

"Some things DON'T change," he said wryly, as she lifted her computer bag off of his shoulder, leaning in close enough for him to smell her shampoo. She chuckled and went up the stairs with a backwards glance at him. He followed, trying not to show how thrilled he was to have her preceding him up his stairs again. At the top of the stairs, Edith went one way down the hall to where the housekeeper's voice could be heard in full swing again. Anthony watched, then left his bag at the head of the stairs and followed.

As he peeked around the door, he could see Edith sit wearily on the side of the bed, smoothing her hand over the duvet, while Jenny offered to put her things away for her. She felt as if she could sleep for days. Jenny looked at her with concern, and Edith tried to smile reassuringly at her. The guest room wasn't furnished with the best the house had to offer, but it was cozy. Edith glanced around, taking in the somewhat battered furnishings, and felt welcome and... safe. She met Anthony's eyes nervously and was about to thank him again, but she became lost in the sympathy and understanding that shone back at her.

"I think Lady Edith is just tired, Jenny. She's had a very eventful couple of days and would probably just appreciate a rest?" His voice rose to a question as he cocked his eyebrows at Edith. She nodded.

"Yes, I think that's just what I need," she replied.

"Of course you do, dear," Jenny said soothingly. "How about I bring you up a tea tray now and you can just stay in tonight. No need to stand on ceremony. We don't need the bother of dinner and all. Anthony can just have a sandwich, or something." Anthony rolled his eyes at his menu options and Edith smirked.

Promising to be back in a tick, Jenny pushed Anthony out the door and shut it firmly behind her. Anthony held up his hand and pointed a finger in his housekeeper's face as her mouth opened to start in on him.

"Don't start, please Jenny! You'll get explanations when I can give them, I promise. For now, Edith just needs rest and time to herself."

"From the look of her, she certainly does. Poor dear. And you're not to go bothering her," she ordered as she bustled past him. "And don't make that face at me," she threw over her shoulder.

Anthony looked after her with affection layered with frustration. Before he left to go put his own bag away, he pressed his ear to the door of Edith's room, wishing he had the courage to knock and exchange a few more words with her.

The silence beyond the door was broken by a huge sigh. Anthony couldn't tell if it was one of despair or relief. After standing a few more moments, he answered with a sigh of his own and trudged away to get his bag.


	13. The shoals of an awkward silence

**A/N- All thanks again to my awesome beta, adamsforthought. They're actually talking about talking! I wish they'd do some talking on Downton Abbey, but as I don't own them... Oh well. Let me know what you think.**

The shoals of an awkward silence

Edith sat bolt upright in bed as sweat trickled down the front of her t-shirt, hoping she hadn't cried out. Almost six weeks, and she was still having very vivid, rather disturbing dreams. She watched the door to her room with trepidation, waiting for the quick knock and polite inquiry from the housekeeper, or worse, the tentative knock and stammering questions from Anthony. And what was she supposed to say, other than that she was fine - just had a nightmare - to people who clearly knew better and didn't believe she was fine at all.

Her heart rate slowed down, as she breathed a sigh of relief at not being disturbed. The sky was slowly transitioning from indigo to lighter shades of blue, and she checked the clock on her phone, groaning at the realization that it wasn't even 6 am yet. Lying back against the pillows, she knew there would be no more sleep for her.

The housekeeper found Anthony hovering at the top of the stairs, ears cocked down the hall towards Edith's room a few hours later.

"She's gone and out the door again, Anthony," she informed him, with a slight smile. The first few times she had caught him haunting the upstairs, as close to Edith's room as he thought he could get without rousing suspicion, she had scolded him good naturedly for being so nosy. He had shrugged off her comments and her suggestions that, if he wanted to know what she was up to, he might consider knocking on her door and asking. But as it became clear that Anthony was doing everything he could NOT to disturb Edith in any way, she began keeping a discrete eye on Edith's movements and soothing his concerns whenever she could.

"Oh...that's good," Anthony replied. "I'm never sure, you know? If she's still in her room or if she's gone on her walk. I'd... I'd hate to start breakfast without her." Jenny looked to the ceiling as if praying for strength and informed Anthony that breakfast was ready for whenever Lady Edith returned to the house. Nodding absently, Anthony strolled over to a window that looked out over the rear of the house, shading his eyes in the early morning sunlight. A smile spread across his face as he watched a small figure strolling through the back garden towards the house.

Edith was met in the front hall by Jenny, who grumbled at how wet her shoes were.

"Did you go puddle jumping this morning, Lady Edith?"

"Not this time," she replied with a smile. "The dew was just rather heavy this morning." Sitting on a small bench that was already surrounded by shoes of various sizes and types, Edith removed her wet trainers and socks. She was beginning to regret not bringing along a second pair. But how was she to know how much she would enjoy walking through the countryside again? How much peace it brought her, to push herself into a sweat and walk through the grounds she had known so well when she used to stroll through them with Anthony. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of a time when she never thought she could be happier, and she was surprised to find that it didn't make her feel worse.

Anthony stopped on his way to the dining room to watch Jenny and Edith laughing and chatting. Unable to tear himself away, he caught sight Edith's bare feet and wet socks and couldn't stop a ridiculous grin from spreading across his face.

_We were on the second day of torrential downpours, and Edith dared me to take a walk with her. I was fumbling around for an umbrella, and she just laughed at me and ran out of the front door, getting drenched. Seeing her standing in the middle of the puddles in the drive, the rain pouring over her as she teased me and smiled like a child... I didn't care who was watching Major Anthony Strallan run through the rain like a fool. I just knew I loved her so much right then that I had to kiss her, even if it meant both of us catching our deaths. And when we finally stopped kissing and laughing in the drive and went back inside, Jenny made us take our shoes and socks off by the door, clucking like an angry hen and telling us we were both barking mad._

Edith looked over to see Anthony standing by the dining room door, grinning with a far away look at her bare feet, and found herself smiling back at him. She had a pretty good idea of what he was remembering. Jenny chuckled and bustled off towards the kitchen, giving Anthony a gentle shove as she passed him.

"Good morning," Anthony said, as his eyes flickered from her feet up to her face.

"Good morning, Anthony," Edith replied as she padded over the carpet towards the dining room. "I hope you don't mind if I'm rather casual this morning." His smile widened.

"Not a bit. In fact, you look so comfortable, I'm tempted to toss out my own foot wear." Anthony stood to one side and gestured for Edith to precede him into the dining room.

"Be my guest," she said as she walked past him. "It's your house you know." She looked over at him as he frowned thoughtfully at the cold cereal choices. "You used to eat breakfast in your dressing gown." His eyes snapped over to hers and his words spilled out before he had sense enough to stop them.

"So did you."

Edith flushed and bit her lower lip. _He's flirting with me... and I started it. And now he's standing there, clutching a box of Corn Flakes and flinching like he expects me to throw the coffee pot at him._

Terrified, Anthony waited for her eyes to snap angrily or for her to turn and walk out of the room. Instead, Edith reached for a bowl and motioned at the cereal box.

"Maybe I'll save the dressing gown for another time. Are you going to eat those?"

Anthony slowly handed her the cereal box like it contained unstable isotopes. She took it with an exasperated huff, but her eyes were glinting with humor.

"Another time, then," he said, a little smile playing on his lips. "Rain check, perhaps?" Edith raised her eyebrows at him and turned towards the table, fighting back a snort of laughter.

Anthony sat down and pretended to pay attention to his toast. Edith stirred her cereal absently and sipped her coffee, occasionally glancing at Anthony as she waited for the inevitable attempt at small talk.

"Any plans for the day?" Anthony inquired. Edith looked at him in surprise; he rarely asked, as if he was concerned that he was being intrusive. His opening conversational gambit was usually to ask if she'd like cream.

"The usual - trying to work a little, talking to Elsie, regretting the bulk of my life's decisions. You?" Anthony sputtered into his cup of coffee. She regarded him with amusement as he wiped his face and plate with his napkin.

"Sounds busy. I'll be on a conference call with my solicitor and some chap he wants me to consider working with for a while. Then I'll probably try to catch up on my correspondence. It piles up a bit after three years."

"I can imagine," she said dryly, pushing herself back from the table and picking up her bowl and cup. "Shall I say hello to Elsie for you? Or would you rather do that yourself the next time you call her, hmm? To give your report?"

Anthony made a few incoherent starts at responding, then fell silent. Edith sighed.

"Oh, Anthony. Don't worry so much. I know that Elsie calls..."

"It's not a report, Edith," he interrupted. "Yes, she calls and asks me how you're doing," _and how I'm doing with how you're doing _"but I don't... I just tell her if you're..." Anthony cut himself off and frowned down at the table.

"What? Anthony, I'm not mad at you. Of course Elsie is going to ask you how I'm doing - she knows me well enough not to trust me to tell her everything..." Anthony jerked his head up.

"I don't know what to tell her," he blurted, "because I don't know how you really are doing. And I don't know how to ask you, so I wait for you to tell me. And... you don't." Edith opened her mouth as if she was going to respond, then shut it again. "I know you get up early and take long walks. I know you're eating regularly. I know you spend several hours a day staring at your laptop. I know you haven't been sleeping well... But I don't know how you are. And you don't have to tell me anything, Edith, if you don't want to. But if you ever do... Edith, I may have been rubbish about letting you know what was going on with me, but... but...I could always..." Anthony's voice trailed off as he watched Edith's face twist and her lips press tightly as if she was trying very hard not to say something.

They looked at each other as the comfortable feeling of the morning ran aground on the shoals of an awkward silence. Suddenly, Edith desperately wanted that feeling back. She took a few steps back towards the table and set down her bowl and mug. Taking a deep breath, she sat down in the chair next to Anthony.

Humming to herself like a giant bumblebee, Jenny came through the door with a tray to clear away. Neither Anthony nor Edith looked her direction.

"Have you been spreading butter or atmosphere on your toast, Anthony?" she asked as she took his plate of almost uneaten breakfast, "I'm not sure which is thicker this morning." Edith smiled as Anthony shot his housekeeper an exasperated look and clenched his jaw.

"Thank you, Jenny," he said through gritted teeth. Jenny just grimaced at him, smiled at Edith and left with a full tray.

"She's quite something," Edith mused after a few moments. Anthony snorted.

"Oh yes. Quite something. I'm not sure what, exactly. But certainly something." He sighed and played with the edge of the tablecloth. "She keeps me... grounded. And a bit embarrassed." Edith reached out and tapped her fingers on the back of his right hand, which was resting on the table. He looked over at her touch.

"Don't be," Edith said softly. "You're not wrong. I know I can talk to you, even if you couldn't find a way to say it." Anthony looked up at her questioningly.

"Not wrong? That's not my usual state of things," he said with a little smile, relishing the light touch of her fingertips. Edith rolled her eyes.

"I could always talk to you, Anthony. In fact, I probably talked too much and you were always too polite to tell me so." Edith placed her hand fully over his to stave off his attempt to disagree. "I could tell you anything and everything once. I only wish you'd been able to do the same."

"So do I," he replied, wishing he had the courage to turn his hand over and grasp hers. "So very much."

Edith squeezed the back of his hand lightly. "Well, now's your chance," she said firmly. "I think I could listen, if there's anything you want to say." Anthony's eyes widened as his heart leapt into his throat. Edith waited, twisting the bottom of her shirt with the restless fingers of her other hand.

"Good God! Yes, Edith. There's a great deal I'd like to say," he choked out. Edith let out a breath. "But I need a few moments to..."

"I do too," Edith broke in. "Why don't we talk tonight? After tea?" Anthony nodded. Edith smiled shakily and let go of his hand. As she stood and made her way to the door, Anthony cleared his throat. She looked back.

"I hope... um...I just..." he began.

"Tonight, Anthony. We'll talk tonight." With that, Edith walked out of the dining room. Anthony stared at the doorway.

"If I can tell you anything and everything, can I tell you I love you?" he whispered to the empty room, as the strident ring of the house phone resounded through the hallway.


	14. A crunchy toffee topping of misery

**A/N- Not mine; don't own them; love them far more than Fellowes ever could. Bit of a trigger warning for war memories/PTSD. All hail my incredible beta, adamsforthought, who helped clean up a mess on aisle 14.**

A crunchy toffee topping of misery

Anthony stood in front of the couch in his study, nonplussed, as Jenny scurried around straightening piles of books, dusting and getting the fire crackling. There was a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits artfully arranged on the table next to the couch, and the carpet had been swept. When Jenny had found time to do this, unasked, Anthony had no idea.

"Well...that's that!" Jenny proclaimed, tucking her cleaning basket under her arm and grinning broadly at Anthony. Before he could respond, Edith strolled into the study, pale and not meeting his eyes. Jenny bustled past her, patting her arm, and departed with a clatter of aerosol cans. "I'm off for the night!" she called over her shoulder as she departed with unusual haste.

"What was all that?" Edith asked, staring after Jenny. Anthony rolled his eyes.

"I'm rather afraid to guess. Jenny did everything but tip me a wink and elbow me in the ribs before she left," he replied. Edith broke into a smile and raised her eyebrows.

Anthony smiled back, and the tension in the room seemed to dissipate before it had a chance to build into the forbidding wall he had been dreading. Edith looked briefly around the room, admiring the way the light from the fireplace danced on the honey-colored wood panels on the walls.

"I always loved this room," she said reflectively, as she moved towards Anthony's desk, running her hand along the back of the couch.

"You're welcome to work in here, if you'd like," he offered.

"Then where would you work?" she asked him, glancing over at him.

Anthony shrugged. "I'm not finding myself to be terribly productive lately. I might be a bit distracted." Edith looked sharply at him at his mildly flirtatious tone. He had dropped his eyes, but she could see the glitter of his blue eyes as he looked through his lashes.

"And would that be my fault?" she heard herself asking. _Stop it! _

"Well...I wouldn't call it your _fault,_" he replied with a crooked half smile. _Stop it!_

Edith sat in his desk chair and spun it around to face him where he stood by the couch. Anthony shifted from foot to foot, then abruptly sat down on the couch. They looked at each other for a moment. Anthony felt his heart speed up.

"Um...I don't really know how to get started, Edith."

"Why don't we start with the engagement party and work our way backwards," she suggested tartly. Anthony inhaled deeply and blew out a huff of breath.

"Yes. Well...alright," he began hesitantly. "Um...tea?" Edith's face became stony and she drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair. "Right. Maybe later..."

"Anthony! Do you really want to talk about this?" she snapped. His face crumpled a bit.

"I do! I really do, Edith. I... I need to explain... not to make excuses, because there are none, but just to..." he trailed off and looked into the fire. Edith bit her lip and waited. "It's hard to revisit the stupidest thing I've ever done, to remember how I left you. I need to be clear, that's all."

"Clear about what, exactly?"

Anthony looked over at the frustration in her voice. She was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest. At his glance, she seemed to shrink back into the chair.

"Clear that I left because I thought I was protecting you... from me." The look she leveled at him was frankly skeptical. "Clear that I loved you so much that I was afraid of it."

"Anthony..." He held up a hand and swallowed hard.

"Please... please," he begged. "Please, just let me tell it." He gazed pleadingly at her until she sighed and nodded. "You know that when I left that afternoon, I went straight to a facility in Dorset that specializes in drug addiction. I only stopped by Locksley long enough to tell Jenny where I was going, and to instruct her not to tell anyone where I was. Not even you." He looked down at the carpet and blinked hard. "That was...very difficult. She was rather adamant that I should tell you. I had to tell her that our engagement was off, that I had called it off."

"Well, that's more than you told me," Edith muttered. Anthony's mouth twisted in a pained grimace.

"It wasn't just the drugs, you see. If it had just been the drugs, I would have told you. I was struggling constantly with PTSD, jumping at shadows, unable to sleep though the night. I... I had a few blackouts and I was afraid of what I might do. I wasn't coping well with my arm injury, and damn near every night I relived the IED that went off and blew through my shoulder..." Anthony's throat got tighter and his voice harsher as he hurriedly recounted his litany of struggles. Edith's face softened as she listened.

_God, if you'd only told me even SOME of this, Anthony. I knew you were having difficulties... that time I woke up and you were laying on the floor, sweating and moaning, jerking away whenever I tried to touch you to calm you. Oh God, I thought it was just a nightmare. I thought, if I held you in my arms, I could make it go away._

"How could I have missed all of this?" she asked softly. "I spent part of nearly every day with you. How did I not see?"

"Because I didn't want you to see," he gasped out. "You fell in love with a professional soldier who served honorably, and that's what I wanted to be. But I wasn't. And trying to be, pretending to be, was killing me from the inside. I was a ticking bomb, Edith. And I was terrified I'd take you with me when I exploded."

"Anthony, you DID serve honorably..."

"NO!" Anthony snapped. Her eyes widened. "No," he repeated softly. "No, I didn't. I tried... I really did. I carried out my orders to the best of my ability, and men died horribly." His breath hitched and caught in his chest.

_They had the intelligence right in front of them. I'd written the report; I went in to explain the data; I did everything but fall on my knees and BEG them not to ignore what was so clear to the men in the field. I argued and was reprimanded. I warned them and was put in command of the operation. I could have said no. I could have resigned my commission right there. But it wouldn't have changed anything. I could see it in their eyes. They wanted it to work, so therefore it would work. I shut up and did my duty. And sixteen men died._

"The operation went horribly wrong," he continued. Edith watched his hands begin to shake and wished she could take them in her own. She made a movement, as if to get up and go to his side, but couldn't make her feet work as he continued in a wooden voice.

"I should have refused to do it. It was my responsibility. But I didn't. And it went just as I warned it would. We lost... we lost too many." Anthony shut his eyes as a parade of faces, young faces in uniforms, passed before him. "I was wounded in the initial advance. An IED... I suppose I already told you that. It went off to our right and killed my radio man immediately..." Anthony stopped speaking and clenched his left hand into a tight fist on his thigh, pounding lightly. Then he looked over to Edith, who was looking slightly off to one side, blinking away tears.

"I'm sorry, Edith. I'm sorry to just... dump all of this on you. I wouldn't do it, if it wasn't necessary to explain..."

"Not telling me any of this was what led you to leave me in the first place, Anthony," she interrupted in a shaky voice. "Please... tell me whatever you need to."

"Do you remember, that day we first met, outside of Whitehall?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course I do. How could I ever forget that?" Anthony nodded and took a deep breath.

"That was the first day of the inquiry into what would become known as 'Strallan's Clusterfuck.' The meetings and hearings lasted over six months. All the while we were dating, and I was falling in love with you, I was maintaining the facade of being a professional, wounded soldier who was being consulted concerning an operation that didn't go as planned. In actuality, I was fighting for my professional life... for vindication...just for some dignity."

"They wanted a scapegoat," Edith stated flatly. Anthony nodded and a smile that was more a grimace flickered across his face.

"They did indeed. And with me being on record as being against the plan in the first place... I was destined to lose, Edith. My 'overcautiousness and reluctance led to a preventable loss of life.' There were even hints dropped that I was a coward. I was held responsible for the worst loss of life in one operation in all our involvement up to that time. I could resign my commission, receive my pension, and continued to get care from the military medical corps... or I could be brought up on charges, cashiered, and disgraced. I resigned two days before our engagement party, and left under a cloud that will follow me the rest of my life."

"Anthony, why... why couldn't you tell me? Even just a part of it..." Anthony groaned.

"Edith, I couldn't function four hours without taking prescription pain meds that I was LYING to doctors to get. I lived in terror of doing something that might hurt you in a blackout. I... I wasn't the soldier... I wasn't the man... you thought I was. And all I could think of was that I would do anything, anything at all for your happiness. I loved you so much..."

"But you left. You left with no word, no response to all my efforts to get in touch with you..."

"Yes. I left. I loved you so much, I tried to convince myself I could be happy, that you could be happy with me. But I knew that wasn't possible, not the way I was. I... I couldn't think, I couldn't trust myself, and I was afraid to trust the love we shared."

Edith's eyes were shining with pain. The fire's light shimmered in her auburn hair and he lost himself for a moment, watching the play of the flames reflected around her face. Then he shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, Edith. I don't know how I ever could have thought I was doing the right thing. I'm...I'm not sure I ever really did think it was the right thing. And to know how much I hurt you... It was agonizing."

"Was it?" Edith gasped in a strangled voice. "Was it really?"

"Jenny made sure I received every letter you wrote, a transcript of every message you left. I was constantly aware of how much I hurt you, thanks to her. She would send me baskets of biscuits in the mail and include a letter informing me what a stupid, bloody bastard I was, like a crunchy toffee topping of misery. That was a delightful addition to everything I was feeling as I struggled through the addiction, counseling and physical therapy." Anthony rolled his eyes vigorously at the memory. "Oh yes... it hurt. It should have. It still does."

"Well...God bless Jenny," Edith snapped. "And you pay her to torture you?"

"Yes. Quite well, in fact," Anthony said helplessly.

Suddenly Edith threw back her head and brayed with laughter. Anthony watched her in amazement as she laughed until she was breathless. "All this..." she gasped, "all this because you loved me. Dear GOD, Anthony! I... I don't even know what to say..."

She continued to chuckle and gasp for breath as Anthony sat awkwardly, wondering how to respond. Still shaking her head, Edith stood up and went straight to the table with the tea tray. She poured two cups and handed one to Anthony, who barely managed to accept it without dropping it onto the couch, then wiped her eyes and sat down next to him.

"So..." she began after a hearty swig of tea, "you've put yourself through three years of self flagellation..."

"Jenny helped," he reminded her with a little smile.

"Right. Mustn't forget Jenny. And basically, absent all the details, the heart of your explanation is 'it's not you, it's me...'"

"I could have saved a lot of time if I'd just gone with that," Anthony muttered. Edith snorted into her tea cup.

They sat side by side for a few minutes, watching the fire, letting the undertow of emotions wash around them. Anthony couldn't bring himself to look directly at Edith. The tension in his body throughout the conversation had made his injured arm cramp, and he tried to ease it with small rolling movements of his shoulder.

The movement caught Edith's attention and the pained grimace that moved across his face made her heart clench. She looked at his profile, and then at his right arm. He held it at an awkward angle. Without thinking, she ran her hand up it from his elbow. Anthony jerked in surprise and spun to look at her with a fearful expression.

"Thank you for finally telling me everything, Anthony," she said softly. "I understand better now."

"That's all I could hope for, Edith. I can't ask for forgiveness..."

"You don't have to, Anthony," she said. He winced, and she shut her eyes for a second, wondering why she wasn't more pleased with his remorse.

"But I did so much damage," he whispered. "So much harm to you. In three years, with a lot of help from Dr. Foyle and Jenny, I've managed to forgive myself for the deaths of those men, for the weakness of drug addiction. But I've never managed to forgive myself for what I did to you. I have no realistic expectation of being forgiven. Just... faint hopes... dreams when I'm having a better day than usual."

"I'm fully capable of harming myself, Anthony." Edith focused her gaze on his arm as she continued to caress him. "And... I may have already forgiven you. I'm not sure... but I when I think of you or see you now, I'm not angry. I probably should be. But I can't be. Maybe... maybe I just realized that your pain at hurting me doesn't make me feel better, and I don't want it to be a part of either of our lives anymore." Edith sat back into the couch cushions with a sigh. "I'm a writer, so I should be a lot more articulate than this. But I don't think there are words in the English language to describe how I feel about you right this moment, Anthony Strallan."

Anthony's eyes glittered brightly with unshed tears, and though Edith wanted nothing more in that moment to fold her arms around him and let him cry, she was afraid that she might not be able to let him go if she did. Instead, she gripped her tea cup until her knuckles went white.

_Except maybe love. And I can't tell you that. Not yet. Maybe not ever._


	15. Quite wonderful at first

**A/N- The UPS dude didn't bring me these characters wrapped in silk and feathers today, so I have to assume that I still do not own them. Pity. Definite trigger warning for abuse in this one. Do feel free to let me know what you think. adamsforthought brought the sparkle and clarity-give it up for her!**

Quite wonderful at first

"Well?!"

Anthony jumped a mile as Jenny's voice seemed to boom out at him from nowhere. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the door close quietly behind Edith as she left for her morning walk, thinking of nothing but their discussion the night before.

"Don't DO that!" he snapped, glaring at Jenny, who had apparently popped out of some sort of secret passage to give him a heart attack.

"Sorry," she apologized, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to startle you. You were miles away." He acknowledged her apology with a nod and a smile. "Well?!" she repeated.

"Well...what?" he responded.

"Well, did you get things all sorted out last night?" she demanded with a roll of her eyes.

"Jenny, I'm no expert on these matters, but I would assume that one doesn't sort out three years of abandonment, non-communication, miscommunication, and emotional upheaval in one conversation."

"Oh, I'll agree that you're no expert on these matters, Anthony," she replied smartly. "But you're probably right in this case." She looked at him with a frown and raised eyebrow. "So, I should continue making up the guest room for the duration, then?"

Anthony threw up his hands and glared at her. "Wh-...why can't you just channel your romantic impulses into trashy novels, Jenny? Like all the other housekeepers?"

Jenny made a brisk tsking noise with her tongue and glared back with her hands on her hips. "After working here as long as I have, I've got enough material to write my own trashy novels, Anthony Strallan! And I would, if the story wasn't currently so damn depressing." She whirled away, leaving him with his mouth hanging open and a vague feeling of disquiet in his gut about her possible literary ambitions.

"Breakfast will be ready when Lady Edith gets back!" she hollered back to him as she strode off towards the kitchen. Anthony stomped into the dining room with unnecessary vigor and wondered how he had ever managed to carry out a courtship the first time.

Edith returned a little breathless from her walk. She had spent most of it thinking about the discussion the previous evening, going through everything Anthony had said, and replaying all those moments she had missed when they were dating. In hindsight, she remembered there had been times when he had been distant and distracted - times, even, when they had argued about it. Or rather, she had argued about it, and he had apologized. He'd swing from confident and loving to endearingly awkward, and she had loved every aspect of him.

_That's where he was wrong last night. I didn't just fall in love with Major Anthony Strallan, professional soldier, who just happened to look smashing in his uniform. I also fell in love with the Anthony Strallan who was so nervous when he kissed me the first time, he knocked over the candle on the dinner table reaching for my face. I fell in love with the Anthony Strallan who loved to read the same things I do and who could listen to me talk about what I wanted to write for hours. I fell in love with the man who had nightmares and wouldn't talk about them. I fell in love with the man who searched until he found every place on my body that made me draw in my breath and want to cry with how alive and desired I felt. _

"Now, if I could just tell him any of this..." she muttered under her breath as she walked into the dining room. Anthony looked up from the paper he wasn't reading, surprising her with his presence and making her come to an abrupt stop.

"Tell who what?" he asked pleasantly. Edith flushed a bright pink and Anthony's welcoming smile got wider.

"Er..." Edith got pinker as she tried to think of what to say. "I was thinking a lot about last night... what we talked about." Anthony nodded and tipped his head to one side, waiting for her to continue. "I... I suppose you're curious about how my life got all messed up. How... how I wound up where I was a few weeks ago..."

"I'm curious about everything about you, Edith. I've got three years of self - inflicted ignorance sitting on my shoulders. Anything you'd like to share with me, I'd be glad to hear."

"Would you? I wonder," she replied, not meeting his eyes.

"I would," he said simply, bending his head down to look her in the face. "I really would."

'Well, perhaps we'll talk again tonight," she said quietly.

Anthony looked at her thoughtfully, wondering how he might encourage her. She seemed very anxious at the thought of talking to him. He had kept up with her life quite a bit, actually, through the articles she had written and the tabloid gossip. But clearly there was more he didn't know, perhaps more than she was willing to share with him.

Jenny bustled in with toast and eggs, setting them down on the sideboard with a thump. She beamed at Edith, wishing her a good morning, and glared at Anthony, before telling them to tuck in while it was still hot. Edith watched her go with curiosity wrinkling her brow, then turned to Anthony with a question in her twinkling eyes.

"What did you do to warrant the silent treatment this morning?" she asked.

"Oh God, don't ask," he groaned. "I just bring out the worst in her sometimes."

"I think I adore her," Edith said with a smile.

"The feeling is mutual, I can assure you," he replied dryly. "I feel like I'm a hanger-on at the regular meeting of the Jenny-Edith Mutual Admiration Society."

Edith burst out laughing, and Anthony chuckled at her enjoyment. Breakfast continued with easy conversation until they prepared to go their separate ways for the day. Edith took a last drink of her coffee and looked at Anthony appraisingly.

"Did you mean it last night? When you said I could work in your library? Would... would that be alright?"

"Better than alright," he replied with a smile. "I'm going to be gone most of the day, anyway. And you'd be welcome to use it, even if I wasn't. Are you..." he hesitated. "Are you working on any articles? Is there anything you need for research?"

"I've got a few ideas I'm fleshing out, but nothing on the burner just yet," she replied. Anthony breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't bothered by him asking.

"Very good. I'll see you this evening then. If you need anything..."

"Ask Jenny," she interrupted. "Yes, Anthony. I know." They were both smiling as they left the dining room.

Jenny had been at his library again, Anthony thought as he took in the organization and cleaning that had been done while he had been gone.

_I'm surprised she hasn't hired in a strolling violinist and left a chardonnay on ice. She's not being the least bit subtle. More tea and biscuits... Wait... are those... fresh cut flowers on that table? Good Lord..._

Edith joined him in the library, looking around at the little touches and smiling at Anthony's obvious discomfort. She and Jenny had had a lovely time chatting, while Jenny puttered around in the library and complained happily about Anthony. She clearly loved him dearly and worried about him a great deal.

Anthony was hoping Edith would join him on the couch, but she took the desk chair again with a preoccupied air, shifting it back and forth. Elsie's phone call from earlier in the day was at the front of his mind.

_"I'm delighted to hear that you've been able to talk," she enthused down the line. "You've opened up quite a bit, and I'm sure she's grateful."_

_ "I don't know about grateful," he responded. "But she did say this morning that she had been thinking about it a lot." he paused for a moment. "She didn't say if they were good thoughts, though."_

_ "Well, if she's indicated that she might be willing to talk to you in return, then she's not been put off, Anthony," Elsie reassured him. "You may have to push her a bit, to get her to talk to you. Edith is quite good at changing the subject."_

_ "I don't want her to feel pressured, Elsie. She doesn't have to say anything, if she doesn't want to."_

_ "Then why else is she there, Anthony? If she's going to heal, she needs to talk." At Anthony's silence, she continued briskly. "I'm not saying browbeat her, Anthony. Just ask questions if she doesn't seem to be getting there on her own. When she's had enough, she'll most certainly let you know."_

Anthony watched Edith's fidgeting with rising trepidation, feeling very tempted to offer her a way out of speaking, if she wanted. Edith could feel his nervousness from across the room and sighed.

"Oh, just sit down, Anthony." she said. He promptly sat on the couch and tried to school his expression into one that said "I'm interested, but no pressure." Edith thought he looked more like a young lad who needed to go to the loo, but was hoping he wouldn't have to ask out loud. She began to chuckle at the image. After a few seconds of looking affronted at her reaction, Anthony began to chuckle too.

"Alright. Pour me a cup of tea, would you, Anthony? And tell me...how much do you already know about the last three years?"

Anthony deftly poured her a cup and passed it across the room to her. He was able to stretch his long body sufficiently to reach her without leaving the couch as she leaned towards him. "Well... I haven't been asking anyone about you, except for Ros that one time, but..." At her expression, he continued quickly, "but, never mind. She didn't tell me much."

"I'll bet she didn't," Edith commented.

"But I, well...I read all your articles."

"Did you?" she asked in surprise.

"Oh yes! Every one I could get my hands on. I've been a literary stalker for a while now..." She raised her eyebrows alarmingly. "I mean... that probably didn't come out the way I meant it to."

"No, it probably didn't," Edith said with an amused smirk.

"Um... well, I also read the other papers that mentioned where you'd been seen..." he cleared his throat, "who with... that sort of thing. Couldn't avoid them, really."

"Right then," Edith said in a clipped voice after an uncomfortable moment. "So you know all about how I had an affair with a married man, was the talk of all the clubs, and was cautioned by the police several times for public disorderliness. You also saw some of the rather daring dresses I'd wear for my nights out. And you must have read the rumors about my drug use. Anything else you'd like to talk about?"

Anthony's mouth fell open at her tone and recitation. "Actually, I'd like to talk about why," he muttered.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"I'd like to know why," he replied a little louder.

"Why I went completely off the rails when my fiance' abandoned me with no word? I suppose that's a fair question." Anthony's face twisted and he looked at the floor, but said nothing. Edith leaned her head on her hand and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," she went on. "That wasn't entirely fair. None of my bad decisions are your fault, and I don't want you to think they are." By his expression, Anthony was not entirely convinced. "I did go off the rails for about six months. I... I had to put up with my father's comments about how I was better off without you, if that's the way you were going to be, and my sister's comments about my lack of judgment in the first place. Thankfully, Sybil and Tom had eloped just before our engagement announcement, and the family was still preoccupied with making the best of that, or I think I might have killed one or more of them."

Edith's mouth twitched in a bitter smile as she remembered the biting comments from Mary, accusing her of dragging things out for attention. "I started spending more time in London, but I was spending it trying to track you down. Ros was a great help." At Anthony's astonished face, she laughed. "Oh yes, she was. She called in all sorts of connections in the military and people you knew in common. That's when she wasn't reminding me of the seventeen year gap in our ages and hinting that maybe this was all for the best."

"Ah. That does sound like Ros," Anthony muttered.

"She really did try to help, Anthony. She wanted me to be happy, and I was convinced that my happiness was with you. Anyway, after one too many snide remarks from Mary, I moved to London permanently and began sending out my resume'. And trying to date, which was a bloody fiasco. Until I went for an interview with Michael Gregson." Anthony's face grimaced unpleasantly.

"Yes, well, he seemed quite wonderful at first," Edith said with a roll of her eyes. "He liked my writing, complimented me on my outfit, offered me a job and invited me out to dinner. It started as simply as that - dinner and a job."

"When did it start to change?" Anthony asked quietly.

"Pretty soon afterwards, actually," Edith said with a thoughtful frown. She looked up, straight into Anthony's face, and gazed at him long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. "He looked a bit like you. And he could talk about writing and books by the hour. I think...he reminded me of you, at first. Of course, you didn't get me rip roaring drunk to get me in bed the first time, so THAT was a significant difference."

Anthony made a strangled noise in his throat and began chewing on the inside of his mouth "Still want to talk some more, Anthony?"

"If you do," he replied with a valiant attempt to sound neutral. It was remarkably unsuccessful, and Edith looked at him doubtfully. "Please, go on."

"Alright. He was my editor, and our relationship was inappropriate to say the least, but he showed me a good time. I actually found out that he was married, but 'separated,' within a few weeks after we started seeing each other. It didn't seem to matter. I thought I was coming into my own. Michael had a lot of sources, sources that he shared with me. And I was able to start cultivating my own through the contacts he gave me. We went clubbing, and did recreational drugs, and drank, and I wrote award-winning articles - articles he was taking credit for co-authoring when he did no such thing."

Anthony's heart broke as he watched a tear trickled down Edith's face. Almost angrily, she dashed it away with the back of her hand. He snatched back the hand he had unconsciously extended in her direction, hoping she hadn't noticed. She didn't seem to have, as she continued with a slightly thickened voice.

"He could be cruel sometimes, with his words. He knew what to say to make me feel worthless, when it suited him. I tried to leave him several times, but he always managed to pull me back in with an apology, or a lead, or drugs. Because I was completely addicted to street drugs by then. And even though he was with me all the time, he never seemed to be. At least, not like I was." Edith gave a sudden bark of hard laughter. "I wrote some of my best pieces stoned out of my mind - can you imagine that?"

"Yes," Anthony responded. "Yes, I can." They exchanged an understanding look.

"Even though I knew he was horrible, I just couldn't seem to get away. I was afraid no other paper would hire me. And I KNEW no one would want to be with me after all the gossip and public displays. My family..." her chest hitched and she bit her lip before continuing, "my family didn't want to have anything to do with me while I stayed with him. So when I needed help badly, I didn't think I could turn to them. I stayed away, and took advantage of Aunt Ros and Uncle Duke, and made a bloody damn fool of myself and...and..." Edith struggled to draw in a breath and Anthony became alarmed.

"Edith? Edith, darling? What? Please, what is it?" Edith gasped and tears streamed down her face as she tried to control her breathing, vaguely registering the endearment that fell from Anthony's lips as if it was a very natural thing for him to say.

"And...and when he...when he...oh God... I can't..." Anthony plunged off of the couch and reached for her hand. At his touch, Edith threw herself backwards in the chair, nearly falling out of it.

"NO!" she screamed. "Just don't..." Edith flew up, pushing Anthony away and running from the library. Anthony fell to the side, knocking his injured arm against the desk, making him hiss in pain. Then he dashed from the room to see her flying up the stairs.

"Edith, please! Wait!" Following as fast as he could, he reached the top of the stairs in time to see the door to her room slam. He went straight to her door and knocked frantically. "Please, Edith! Talk to me! Let me help, if I can!" He could hear drawers being opened and slammed shut and suddenly knew, without a doubt, that Edith was looking for any kind of drug that might help her with her anxiety.

"There isn't anything, Edith. You know there isn't. Please...please, talk to me," he begged through the door. Muffled sounds of weeping were the only response. Anthony staggered back against the wall of the hall, opposite Edith's door.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Jenny demanded, coming around the corner in her dressing gown and slippers with her hair sticking out all over the place. "Anthony! What have you done now?"

"I don't know," he snapped. "I just don't know. We were talking and she had a panic attack and I tried to help... Oh GOD, I've bolloxed it all up again. That's all that I ever do..." He slumped against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, not taking his eyes off of Edith's door.

"You're not going to leave again, are you?" Jenny asked, unimpressed with his emotional display. Anthony glared at her.

"No I'm bloody NOT. I'm not doing that again. I'll be here for her when she's ready to talk." Jenny patted his head.

"Good lad," she said. "Shall I fetch you a blanket, then? If you plan to sit out here all night..."

"It won't be the first time I've stood guard all night," he muttered. "Just go back to bed, Jenny. I'll be fine." Jenny gave him a parting hug and left him, sitting on the floor, staring at Edith's door with haunted eyes.

The sounds of Edith's distress faded away and in the silence that followed, the tension and anxiety of the evening caught up with Anthony. Within two hours, he was sound asleep, his long body stretched across the hall and head slumped awkwardly against the wall.


	16. As easy as that

**A/N- They're not my characters, for which, I'm sure, they would be profoundly grateful. VERY strong trigger warning this time - trafficking, non-consent, violence, drug abuse. They have to go through it to get to the other side. None of this is strictly fiction; it comes out of my experience as an advocate and counselor for human trafficking victims. This chapter would likely have never emerged from my computer without the incredible betaing of admasforthought. I'm responsible for the content; she helped me make it readable. Enough chat; let's go.**

As easy as that

_All bloody night. He slept on the floor of the hall in front of my door all bloody night. I don't believe this. _

Edith shook her head and felt a trembling smile come to her face. When she had awoken, still exhausted and red eyed from sobbing, she expected had to go for her usual walk and come back to a VERY painful, quiet breakfast. She certainly had not expect to see Anthony's long form stretched awkwardly across the hall.

The house was quiet and she could hear Anthony's heavy, slumbering breaths. As she pondered waking him, she allowed her eyes to wander, taking in his slim form and coming to rest on the planes of his face, then finally lingering on the stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

_I'd run my fingers up and down his jaw in the mornings, loving the way it scratched when he'd kiss me. My skin would turn pink from the friction, especially my neck. When I saw it in the mirror, it was like he had marked me as his, with a good morning kiss. I hated to see it fade away. _

Anthony shifted and moaned, startling her out of her reverie. She averted her gaze, not wanting to be caught staring at him with what, she assumed, was a silly, lovesick smile on her face.

_ He's laying out here, cramping up his neck and shoulder, because he thinks he's done something wrong... something to hurt me. After last night, it's no wonder he thinks that._

Carefully skirting around his long legs, Edith made her way cautiously around his sprawled body and tiptoed towards the stairs. Looking back, she watched him beginning to stir and almost went back to him. Not quite ready for the conversation she knew they must have, she quietly glided down the stairs, hoping Jenny wasn't already awake and that she could get outside without having to chat. She didn't feel quite like facing Jenny's solicitous concern and sympathetic smiles yet.

Anthony's eyes popped open when he heard the front door shut. He'd been halfway between asleep and awake for the last couple of hours, his shoulder screaming at him for sleeping on the floor. He'd been aware when Edith had crept from her room, but had lain quietly, frozen with indecision. What, exactly, does one say to the woman who ran screaming from you the night before, especially after you've fallen asleep in the hallway in front of her bedroom? He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't have the potential to make things exponentially worse.

Groaning and grunting, Anthony slowly got to his feet and stretched gingerly as he made his way to the window. Edith was walking slowly away from the house, heading to the path that led from the back garden down to the lake. Although he had watched her come and go for weeks, giving her privacy and space, he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him as he stared at her back. Not today. He couldn't let her go off alone.

Resolved, he made his way quickly down the stairs to find Jenny standing at the bottom, gazing thoughtfully at the front door. She turned when she heard him coming down the stairs, and he saw the cup of tea and ibuprofen sitting on the saucer in her hand.

"Good Lord, Anthony. You look absolutely wretched," she greeted him, handing him the tea and meds. He took them gratefully, swallowing the pills with a huge mouthful of tea.

"I feel absolutely wretched," he confirmed. "But I'm not sure it's all to do with sleeping on the floor." Jenny was startled when he thrust the empty cup back at her with a muttered "thank you." She juggled it as she watched him walk to the door.

"So, you're going after her this morning?" Anthony grabbed a jacket and maneuvered it on.

"I think I ought to," he replied, almost apologetically. Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Past time, I'd say," she muttered. "Half a second, and I'll put some tea up in a thermos for you. Lady Edith hasn't had any yet." Anthony shifted anxiously from foot to foot as Jenny dashed off, returning a few moments later with a warm thermos.

Edith walked more slowly than she usually did on her walks. She didn't seem to have the energy to stride as she was used to. As she entered the small woods, she reached out often to touch the dangling leaves, heavy and wet with dew. The low mist swirled around her feet, mesmerizing her. But when she realized she was lingering to give Anthony a chance to catch her up, she shook her head briskly at herself and began to walk a little faster.

Anthony followed stealthily. His long stride ensured that Edith came into view fairly quickly, but he hung back, keeping her in view but ducking in and out of the trees to stay out of sight, confident in his military-honed skills and intimate knowledge of every inch of his land. Resolutely ignoring the little voice in his head that informed him he was being ridiculous, and downright sneaky besides, Anthony was determined not to intrude on Edith's solitude anymore than was necessary.

He reached the edge of the wood and peered out from behind a rather large oak. Edith had strolled down to the edge of the lake, near the boathouse and dock, and she stood, staring out over the water as she rubbed her arms for warmth. The clamoring anxiety in her head had been mercifully silent for most of the walk. But, as she gazed with unfocused eyes at the surface of the water, her internal argument tried to begin again. She quashed it ruthlessly.

_I need to tell him, and that's all there is to it. Either tell him, or leave. Staying here without letting him know what happened isn't... it isn't honest. He can't know what he thinks of me now unless he knows who I am. Now is as good a time as any._

Anthony continue to lean against the tree trunk, peering around it, captivated by the motions her hands made as they rubbed up and down her arms. He swallowed hard and fought the urge to go to her and take over the task of warming her up. As he watched, he noticed a smug grin spread across her face and jerked back quickly when she turned her head in his direction.

"If you're quite finished acting like a boy scout earning his wild craft badge, Anthony, why don't you come on over? Unless that tree is more comfortable than it looks?" Her voice, slightly raised to cover the distance, rang through the early morning stillness. Anthony colored a deep red and leaned his head against the tree trunk for a moment, calling himself names under his breath and breathing a prayer of thanks that Jenny wasn't here to witness this.

"I wouldn't be disturbing you?" he asked, not looking her in the eye. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"You would be, but it wouldn't be as disturbing as you lurking behind a bloody tree." She beckoned to him with a smile. "Just... just come here, Anthony."

Anthony cleared his throat and tried to stroll casually towards Edith as if there was nothing untoward about his arrival. Edith's smile widened. He advanced until he stood next to her, looking out at the lake with his left hand in his pants pocket, thermos of tea tucked between his arm and his body.

"You know," he began conversationally, "Their Majesties spent a great deal of money training me to walk undetected."

"Pity it didn't take," Edith retorted. "How'd you manage a twenty-year career if an exhausted, distracted daughter of a peer can spot you right off?"

"Perhaps I wanted to be seen," he replied, glancing sideways at her. "I'd have left you alone, if you hadn't called to me. I didn't follow you out here to intrude."

"Why did you follow me then?"

"I was worried about you. After last night..."

"Yes," Edith interrupted. "Last night..."

"Edith, I'm sorry..." Anthony began. Edith turned to him and put her finger firmly over his lips. His eyes widened.

"Stop right there," she said firmly. "You have nothing to apologize for. You didn't do anything wrong. _I_ didn't tell you that I still struggle with anxiety talking about Gregson and me. _You _only tried to help, Anthony." She removed her finger from his lips, looking into his eyes and remembering how he called her "darling." She had replayed it in her mind over and over as she cried through the night.

"I'm afraid you might have... well, the wrong impression. I'm afraid you might think that Michael physically abused me?" The darkening of his eyes and set of his jaw confirmed her guess. "Michael never actually physically harmed me... Not that I am aware of, anyway," she qualified.

"But there's more to the story, isn't there? Someone... someone did hurt you?" Anthony asked. Edith nodded and looked away, a deep despair coming into her eyes.

"Oh, yes. There's definitely more to the story. Much, much more."

Anthony sighed and held out the thermos silently. Edith took it from him and opened it, relishing the steam and fragrance that wafted out. Anthony watched as she poured herself a capful and shook his head when she offered it to him.

"I've had some already. Jenny was concerned that you'd perish out here in the wilds without a cuppa." Edith smiled into the cup she was holding to her lips. Anthony gazed at her with mounting desperation, wanting to take her hand or push her hair back from her face and cup her cheek. She flushed under his scrutiny and dropped her eyes, concentrating on swallowing the tea.

_I have to tell him. The way he's looking at me right now... Oh, God. This may be the last time he looks at me like that._

Edith finished her tea and fiddled with the lid before screwing it back on, then bent down and gently laid the thermos on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Anthony, looking into his concern filled eyes. The rising sun had burned off what was left of the mist, and the light was becoming harder, brighter.

"Edith... if you don't want..." he began. She shook her head and placed her hands flat against his chest. She looked down, steadying herself and feeling the strong beat of his heart under her palm.

"I need to tell you, Anthony. You're not going to want to hear it any more than I want to tell it. But I need to tell you. And I need you to just listen. Please. Don't interrupt or ask questions... just let me tell it."

Anthony brought his left hand up to cover her hands on his chest and bent down closer to her ear. "You can tell me anything."

Edith nodded and dropped her hands, stepping back and putting some space between them. Anthony fought the urge to pull her back.

Edith took a deep breath. "About a year and a half ago, Michael and I went abroad, to the Baltics... particularly to Estonia." Anthony's eyebrows knit in confusion, but he said nothing. "We had both been working on a series concerning illegal immigration and smuggling. Michael was working on it from the drug perspective. I was looking at it from the human trafficking angle." She was silent for a moment.

"Things never really did go well between us, but I was finally getting right fed up with it all. I made the decision that this would our very last collaboration; I'd ask for a new editor, or freelance. Why I decided to drop that on him in Estonia... God knows, I've never been anything but stupid where he was concerned." Anthony looked as if he'd like to disagree, but he held his tongue. Edith bit her lip and drew in a shuddering breath.

"To this day, I'm not entirely sure what he was hoping to achieve there. We had absolutely no luck getting decent interviews, and we were blocked by the language and cultural barrier. We were even threatened once, by a man with a handgun. That's what did it for me. I think Michael was hoping to make direct contacts with drug smugglers - less for the story than for a potential profitable relationship. But I have no proof..." She shook her head. "It doesn't really matter. He was quite unsuccessful. And less than pleased about it."

"We were staying in Tallin, and after three weeks of sketchy contacts and no results, I told him I was leaving - Estonia AND him. We fought about it in the hotel bar. Michael went over to get us some drinks..." Edith cut herself off suddenly and Anthony tensed. His hands flexed into fists unconsciously, the right one sending a bolt of pain up to his shoulder that he ignored.

"God... I was so stupid... so fucking naive. We fought some more. He threw his drink back, told me I was on my own for dinner, and stormed off. I drank mine... and I don't remember a thing."

As Edith paused, a shiver went up Anthony's spine. "It must have been Rohypnol, or something of the like. I woke up in a bed in an empty room with no memory of how I got there... no phone, no purse, no passport, no id... no idea where the hell I was... in nothing but my knickers and bra."

Anthony very nearly rescinded his pledge to keep silent and listen when she began to gasp for breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he restrained himself from reaching out for her hand. Her eyes were closed and she was hugging herself tightly.

"I was so furious," she whispered. " All I could think was that Michael was being nasty to me, getting back at me, trying to humiliate me. I burst out of the door to that room, expecting to find him laughing and drunk on the other side. But...but he wasn't there. Only a few, strange men. And I demanded to know where my things were. Demanded. Because even then, I couldn't believe that this sort of thing could be happening to me. To _me! _Lady Edith Crawley..."

Edith's words hit him like bullets. Anthony's legs felt watery, and for a moment, he wondered if he was going to be able to keep his feet. He swallowed down the bile in his throat.

_She needs me. She needs me to hear this. She needs to tell me. If she's strong enough to tell it, I've GOT to be strong enough to hear it._

The sunlight was almost harsh on her auburn hair, making brassy lights dance on Anthony's eyes. He squinted and mentally begged her to turn to him, to look at him. But Edith stared down or away, anywhere but into his eyes. If she looked into his eyes, she was convinced there would no way to finish. She couldn't bear the possibility of seeing the care and concern in them change to something else.

"None of them spoke English, or, at least, so it seemed. But when I tried to leave, they communicated very clearly that I wasn't permitted to leave. I began to scream at them and one of them...he hit me. Knocked me to the floor. While he was hitting me, another man - the 'boss,' as I discovered later - came in and told him to stop. He spoke English - not well, but enough. And I... I _clung_ to him. I was so grateful to be understood. I asked about Michael, where he was, when he would be back. And he reassured me." Edith stopped and bit her lip. "He kept telling me he would be back soon, that they were looking after me..."

Anthony made an involuntary noise in his throat. Edith glanced at him skittishly, then looked away again. His face was a mask of pain and it made it difficult for her to continue, knowing that what was to come would only hurt him more. Determine to finish, she took a deep breath and spoke quickly.

"I was there for days, and they wouldn't let me go. Eventually, I knew Michael wasn't coming, and I was afraid they were going to hold me for ransom. I was _afraid _they were going to try to get money from my family, because a very small part of me was afraid my family wouldn't... Well, that was the least of my worries. The next time I tried to leave, the man I thought would help me, he let them beat me. And then..."

She trailed off, struggling to put her memories into words. Anthony's mouth fell open, as if he was going to say something. Edith continued quickly before he could.

"He raped me. He... he hurt me... left me bruised and bleeding. And he told me in English that if I cooperated, things wouldn't be too bad, that they would take care of me. And if I didn't... they would kill me. In the three weeks we had been in Tallin, four unidentified female bodies had been found, brutalized. I absolutely believed every word he said. And as easy as that, he owned me." Edith had to stop to breathe deeply and clasp her shaking hands together. The silence grew heavy between them.

"Edith..." Anthony gasped horsely. Her hands flew up, as if she was shoving him away as she done the night before.

"No. No no no no. Anthony, let me finish! I have to finish..." He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head.

"I wasn't compliant enough. The other women who came in and out were better, more docile. One day, one of the men who spoke a broken English came over to me and kept saying 'treat.' A 'treat' for me. He got one of the women to hold me down and injected me with heroin. It was good stuff. And it made me... not care so much. After the first few times, I learned to inject myself when they gave me the junk. And I would have done anything for it. Anything." She groaned and looked straight at Anthony. "Anything! Do you understand that? Anything they told me!"

Anthony felt as if every part of him had been clinched into a knot. His cheekbones ached from the force of his emotions trying to break through. The eye contact was fleeting; Edith looked away again, aching with the pain she saw in his face.

"About eight months, this went on. I think I was sold mainly to business associates of the 'boss.' German and Russian speakers. Not that we did much talking. I'd get high, the client would use me, and my 'escort' would come take me back to one of the flats throughout the city. There were other women, but we rarely talked. None spoke English, not to me anyway. I don't know how long it might have continued before I died - probably of an overdose, or for displeasing a client." Anthony took a deep, rattling breath as the image of a brutalized, cold Edith filled his mind.

"But I caught a lucky break." Edith laughed bitterly. "A very lucky break. A careless client. And his associates who were French. Even high, I can speak A level French. Did you know that?" The sound of Anthony's harsh breaths were her only answer.

"They didn't help me, you know. I told them I was being held against my will, and the one said it wasn't his business. They didn't help me, but they didn't stop me. And I left. I just... walked out. And I hid. I hid in horrible, filthy, dangerous places." Edith shut her eyes for a moment, remembering the fear and desperation, the terrifying realization that she might have to sell herself to get what she needed.

"Within three days, I was so weak from hunger and so strung out, needing a fix, that I passed out on a sidewalk. Someone must have called the police, because I woke up in the hospital. From there, I was sent to the British Embassy, who almost turned me back over to the Tallin Police."

At Anthony's confused expression, Edith shook her head. "They're middle level bureaucrats, not knights in shining armor, Anthony. All they knew was that I was a hard drug user and prostitute claiming British citizenship- claiming to be Lady Edith Crawley, for God's sake. I had no way to prove anything. I begged them to help me get in touch with Aunt Ros. If she hadn't answered... I'd have been back in the hands of the traffickers and likely dead. Ros flew over immediately, screamed and raged and threatened careers, got me a temporary passport, and took me back to her house."

With that, Edith suddenly crumpled onto the ground, as if her legs had been cut out from under her. Her eyes were dry, and her chest felt hollow. Anthony continued to stand a few feet from her, staring over the lake as tears fell unheeded down his cheeks. She watched him in silence, dreading what his expression would be when he looked at her again. As the impact of the emotional purging fully hit her, she began to shake.

Anthony was tied into so many emotional knots, he wasn't capable of speech. As much as he wanted to kneel down next to Edith and hold her to him, he was terrified that he would trigger another panic response. But when he saw her shaking and staring at the ground in front of her as if praying it would open and swallow her up, he moved without thinking.

Edith's eyes were closed when she felt Anthony's jacket being draped over her shoulders and his hands gently resting for a moment on her shoulders. As he whispered her name, his breath teased the strands of hair curling around her ear, like a brief benediction, before he stood back up and moved away.


	17. Something holding us together

**A/N- Nowhere to go but up, right? Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this story. I sure wish these were my characters. adamsforthought makes it better.**

Something holding us together

_Now he knows. Now he knows. And what he's heard will make him see me differently. He'll be kind and awkward, but he'll keep stepping away from me until there's nothing holding us together anymore._

As she felt Anthony step away, Edith clutched at the lapels of the jacket hanging over her shoulders. Tears dripped from under her closed eyelids as she bit her lip to keep from sobbing aloud. Even though she had prepared herself for things to change irrevocably when he learned the whole story, she hadn't been prepared for the way it pierced her heart like a shard of glass.

Three steps... four steps... five steps... Anthony forced himself to step back and tried to find a place in the swirling maelstrom of his emotions where he could drop anchor and get himself back under control. The pain and grief he felt for Edith, and the guilt that came roaring back as she told her story, made him feel like his legs were going to buckle. But it was the fury, the rage building up inside him towards Gregson, the traffickers, the men who bought her - and towards himself, if he was being honest - that frightened him and made him fear to be near Edith at all. He had felt this way so seldom in his life that it never ceased to overwhelm him with its power. It rumbled through his chest like a train, charging for the back of his throat, needing to explode in a roar.

His toe caught on the thermos Edith had laid on the ground, and he bent down automatically to scoop it up. Suddenly, he slung it awkwardly but powerfully with his left hand into the side of the boat house. The hollow boom and shattering of the glass lining that followed opened the gates he had been so desperately trying to hold shut.

Edith let out a startled shriek at the sound and her eyes flew open. She stared, wide eyed over the hand that flew up to cover her mouth, as Anthony began screaming a string of creative invective in a booming voice that didn't seem possible to come from this thin, reserved man.

Anthony staggered against the boathouse wall, careening heavily against his wounded side. Still bellowing and cursing with all the fluency a twenty-year military career can bring to a person's vocabulary, he pummeled the side of the boathouse with his left fist, over and over again.

Edith stood up and ran towards Anthony with her heart in her mouth as bloody marks began to appear on the boards.

"STOP! ANTHONY, STOP! PLEASE!" she screamed at him. Anthony could hear nothing over the roar in his ears and the sound of his own voice. But he did see her as he reared back for another punch and jerked aside instinctively, afraid he would hit her. His hand struck awkwardly, and a sharp pain made him draw back with a cry and fall backwards onto the ground, holding his hand to his chest. As he rocked back and forth in the agony of a broken hand, he began shaking with deep, deep sobs.

Edith breathed harshly, staring at him in disbelief. She had seen Anthony irritated, frustrated, and even angry. But she had never seen an emotion as powerful as this from him. It frightened her, but as she listened to him repeat "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," between sobs, her fear was for him, not for herself.

"Oh, Anthony," she whispered. "Oh my God. What have I done to you?" Slowly, she approached his hunched over form and gently laid her hand between his shoulder blades. He jerked at her touch, scattering the blood dripping from his knuckles over his pants leg.

"Shhh... shhh... Anthony, breathe. Breathe in and out slowly," she coached in a quiet, but firm, tone. Rubbing between his shoulder blades, she calmed him like she would a distressed child until his breathing began to even out and his chest hitched silently as the sobs subsided.

"Look at me, Anthony," she ordered. He raised his eyes to hers, bright blue shimmering with tears and pain. "None of this is your fault. And no amount of your pain will make mine any better." A shudder racked his body as he exhaled and winced.

Edith gently took his injured hand in her own. It was already terribly swollen and black and blue. "You're going to need a doctor, Anthony." Fresh tears sprang to his eyes as she pressed her lips softly to the back of his hand.

"Let me help you up," she offered. Anthony moaned in pain as she braced herself under his left arm, trying not to jostle his hand too much. It was a more difficult task than she had anticipated, and she nearly collapsed under him as he tried to unfold his long legs and lean himself against her to stand. For a moment, the absurdity of the situation struck her, and she almost burst out laughing at the thought that if he fell on her and couldn't get up, they'd have to lay out by the lake until Jenny sent a search party.

Groaning and grunting, Anthony managed to make it to his feet, cradling his injured hand against his chest and moaning from the pain shooting through his right arm and shoulder from his old injury. He stood, hunched over slightly, feeling quite pathetic.

"Do you think you can walk?" Edith asked him. He sighed deeply.

"I'll have to," he replied hoarsely. "There really isn't any way to get the car down here." For a moment, Edith looked as if she was contemplating making the attempt with his Land Rover anyway, and he felt a stirring of concern at the thought. Much to his relief, she shrugged and agreed.

"We'll take it slow, then. Should I go first, to make sure the path is clear?"

"Alright. But you don't need to wait for me..."

Edith rolled her eyes in exasperation. "As if I would consider going off and leaving you to make your own way back in the state you're in," she interrupted. "Honestly, Anthony. You're not Superman."

"Yes, I know," he replied in a clipped tone. "Your Aunt Ros made it abundantly clear that the 'S' stands for Strallan."

"When was this?" she asked, looking back at him curiously. He sighed.

"The night we were all out looking for you," he replied. "Watch it!" he warned as Edith stumbled on the path. Edith swung her eyes forward again, and they made their slow way back to the house.

Edith gently pulled Anthony to the bench inside the entryway and made him sit down. Jenny appeared from the dining room looking disgruntled.

"Back so soon?" she snapped with her hand on her hip. "Breakfast was nearly for the dust bin. What in the world took you so...?" she trailed off as she saw Anthony's hand and pale face. "Oh my God! What happened to you, Anthony?"

Anthony sighed heavily and grimaced as he tried to wave Jenny off. "Don't fuss, Jenny. It's... it's a very long story. I think I should..."

"He punched the boathouse," Edith interrupted flatly, "and very likely broke every bone in his hand." Jenny looked back and forth between them with her mouth hanging open. Anthony groaned in frustration and embarrassment. Edith just shook her head and shared a long glance with the housekeeper.

"Well, then," Jenny said briskly. "I'll get on the phone to Dr. Clarkson. Lady Edith, can you help him into the living room and get him to lay down for a bit?"

"I can walk, Jenny," Anthony said wearily to her retreating back. "I didn't try to _kick_ the boathouse to death." He tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Edith was standing in front of him with her arms crossed and an impatient eyebrow raised at him.

"If you're still sitting here when she gets back from phoning the doctor, _I_ won't take responsibility for it," she informed him.

"I wouldn't ask you to take the brunt of her pique," Anthony replied. With a grunt and a grimace, he stood up and they made their way into the living room, where Anthony gingerly stretched his long form out on the couch.

"Dr. Clarkson is on the way," Jenny said, poking her head into the doorway. "Shoes... off," she barked, snapping her fingers at Anthony's feet.

"You are solicitude itself, Jenny," Anthony groaned. Edith couldn't hold back a smile and began unlacing Anthony's shoes.

"Dr. Clarkson?" she asked as she pulled off one of his shoes. "Would that be Richard Clarkson or Isabelle Clarkson?"

"Richard. Do you know him?"

"Dr. Izzy was our pediatrician growing up. We saw Dr. Richard on occasion." Her face grew thoughtful as she pulled off his other shoe. "I guess that will mean my being here won't be a secret much longer."

"Richard won't say anything if we ask him not to. He helped me quite a bit when I was dealing with the addiction. He was the first doctor to realize I was drug seeking and helped me find the facility I wound up at. I'd say he's very discrete."

"I'm sure he won't discuss it at the newspaper stand," Edith acknowledged. "It's just... Izzy is some sort of a cousin. Quite removed, but still family. If he mentions my being here to his wife, chances are my family will hear about it eventually."

"You could go upstairs when he comes, if you don't want to take a chance," Anthony suggested, unable to hide his hope that she would decline. Edith shook her head with a small smile.

"No. I'll stay. People around here are hopeless gossips; I'm sure my family is going to find out that I was here at some point anyway. And I'll need to hear how he wants your hand treated, as it will be down to Jenny and me to make sure you do as you're told."

"Don't worry. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. I'll be a model patient," Anthony promised with a crooked smile.

"Don't you believe THAT load of codswallop for a moment," Jenny said from the doorway with the doctor behind her in the hall. "Dr. Clarkson is here."

Dr. Clarkson came in with a smile for Anthony and a double take for Edith.

"Lady Edith? I had no idea you were back in Yorkshire, much less at Locksley." Edith looked uncomfortable and Dr. Clarkson took the hint, turning to look at Anthony.

"Good God, man! What did you do to yourself?" he asked as he began to gently examine Anthony's hand.

"It's rather a long story..." Anthony began.

"Punched the boathouse!" Jenny's voice rang out from the hallway. Edith put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle at Anthony's and Dr. Clarkson's expressions.

"What? Why?" Dr. Clarkson asked, bewildered.

"Is it broken, Doctor?" Anthony asked through gritted teeth as Dr. Clarkson pushed on the top of his hand.

"Oh, I'd say most definitely. Probably in several places. Whatever did the boathouse do to you?" he persisted. When Anthony just shut his eyes and shook his head, Clarkson looked thoughtfully between Edith and Anthony.

"Lady Edith, would you be so kind as to fetch some hot water. I've got everything else I need in my bag," he asked politely.

"You don't need to send Edith off," Anthony interjected. Edith patted his shoulder and smiled at Dr. Clarkson.

"Of course, Dr. Clarkson. I'll be right back." Anthony's eyes followed her as she left. Then he gave Dr. Clarkson a hard look, which the doctor readily returned.

"What's this about, Anthony?" he asked sternly.

"It's not what you think. I haven't fallen out of recovery," Anthony assured him. "I won't relapse." Dr. Clarkson snorted.

"I've never known of an unimpaired person to punch a building," he said skeptically.

"Well, record it now, because I've just made medical history!" Anthony snapped. At Clarkson's astonished look, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Richard. It's been a bloody morning, and I'm still rather edgy."

"Clearly. Are you not going to tell me what's going on, Anthony?"

"It's not entirely mine to tell. Suffice it to say, I was as enraged as I think I've ever been. I've not punched a building in over a decade..."

Dr. Clarkson rolled his eyes and smiled at Edith as she returned with a bowl of steaming water. He hummed quietly as he gathered up his flannels and gauze and began gently cleaning Anthony's hand. Anthony hissed and grimaced.

"Did you eat anything yet?" he asked Edith, trying to take his mind off Clarkson's ministrations.

"No I haven't. But I'm not terribly hungry. I'll wait until you can join me." Edith rubbed his shoulder soothingly and winced as she watched Clarkson clean up his wounds.

Dr. Clarkson worked efficiently, cleaning and wrapping the cuts. Then he put Anthony's hand in a splint, warning him seriously that it must stay on for at least three weeks in order to give the bones in his hand time to knit up.

"And you've seriously strained your right shoulder again, Anthony. I'd like you back in your sling for a couple of days." Anthony looked rebellious at that, but Jenny appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by magic, with his old, black sling dangling from her finger and a very determined glint in her eye. Clarkson hid a smile under his mustache and winked at Edith as Anthony grudgingly agreed.

"Ice, and lots of it," Dr. Clarkson ordered. "If you're awake, you should have an ice pack on for the next few days. And Ibuprofen for the pain and swelling. I wish I could give you something more effective..." Anthony just motioned irritably with his immobilized hand while Edith and Jenny maneuvered him into his sling. "I'll check on you in two weeks. Call me if the pain becomes unbearable, you begin to run a fever, or if you lose sensation in that hand."

"I'll see you out, Doctor," Edith offered. They walked to the front door together, Dr. Clarkson giving her last minute instructions about Anthony's care.

"... And he won't be very cooperative, if his history is any indication. Do try to keep him on a schedule with the ice and Ibuprofen, though."

"I will," Edith assured him. "I think, between Jenny and myself, we can probably keep him on the straight and narrow." Dr. Clarkson grasped the doorknob, then hesitated.

"Lady Edith... Anthony wouldn't tell me what all this was about. I'm glad you're here to help him, but you should know, he's not as strong as he appears to be."

"There's a boathouse wall that might argue that point with you, Doctor, but I understand what you mean. Anthony and I... we're about to the point where we have no secrets from one another." Dr. Clarkson nodded at her, then bid her good bye.

"Dr. Clarkson..." Edith began. He paused on his way out. "I would very much appreciate it if you didn't mention to anyone that I'm staying here."

"Of course, Lady Edith," he replied with a smile. Edith watched him go back to his car and headed back towards the living room, where Jenny's voice could be heard in high dudgeon with Anthony's mumbled responses in counter point.

"Jenny," she said as she entered the room, interrupting what looked to be building into a fine tirade, "Do you think we might have a bite to eat in here? We'll be ever so careful about the crumbs and spills."

Jenny hurriedly wiped away what looked suspiciously like tears. "That's a fine idea, Lady Edith. And don't fuss yourself about the spills - it'll all clean up. I'll be back with some toast and tea in a tick." Edith smiled as she bustled away.

"Thank you," Anthony whispered to her. "There's nothing worse then when she has me captive."

"You're a very lucky man to have her, and you know it," she scolded him lightly, pulling a chair over next to the couch.

"Oh, I know it," he replied, looking at her intently. She flushed under his scrutiny, and fidgeted in her chair. They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Anthony," Edith said softly, breaking the silence. "You're in for a rough couple of weeks, I'm afraid."

"Edith, I... I don't know what to say about this," he said, waving his immobilized hand and hissing when the movement caused sharp stabbing pain. "This isn't... I'm not usually..."

"I can't say I wasn't surprised," Edith responded when he trailed off.

Jenny came in with a large tray, bearing everything for a light breakfast plus a giant ice bag and a large bottle of Ibuprofen. "There now," she said, setting the tray down on a side table and wiping her hands against her pants. "Will this do for you both, do you think?"

"Splendidly," Edith replied. "Thank you so much Jenny."

"No trouble at all," Jenny replied, and Anthony made what sounded suspiciously like a raspberry sound. She glared at him, then her eyes softened and she fussed with the ice bag on his hand until it was balanced just so. "Holler if you need me. I should be doing the bedrooms about now."

Anthony struggled to prop himself up against the arm of the couch. Edith gathered some cushions and propped them behind his back until he was, more or less, in a sitting position. Then she busied herself pouring tea and fixing toast. Holding a cup and plate, she suddenly realized that there was no way Anthony could feed himself. When Anthony realized why she was standing at his side, awkwardly juggling his breakfast, he groaned in frustration and swore under his breath.

"Oh, stop moaning," Edith ordered, setting the cup and plate back down on the tray. "Would you like a bite of toast, or some tea first?"

Anthony sighed. "I'm not very hungry, really. Just some tea, please."

Edith lifted the cup to his lips, suddenly very aware of the intimacy of the act. His eyes never left hers as he took a sip, and her hands were shaking slightly as she lowered the cup, lost in the blue depths of his gaze.

_I don't know what's going on in his head, and I'm afraid to guess what's going on in his heart. But... I think there's still something holding us together. Something._

**A/N the second- I'm about to move my family across the state and begin a new job. My beta, whose input I have become utterly addicted to, is a braver man than I am, Gunga Din, and will be embarking on a limited internet vacation soon. I _may _get one more chapter posted before radio silence descends, or I may not. At any rate, there will be a brief interruption to service for the first half of July. Stay hydrated!  
**


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